


The Keeper's Lullaby

by Aschaal



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Listener Is Not Dragonborn, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aschaal/pseuds/Aschaal
Summary: Cicero prayed to his Night Mother. Something- anything- to drive away his maddening loneliness in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. When his prayers were answered in the form of a young maiden's song, Cicero found the strength to push through to the next day. Cicero/Listener





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, y'all.
> 
> So, I've just got a couple things to say before delving into the story here. I won't bother much with notes at the end of my chapters, so this is probably the most you'll hear from me until we reach near the end of the story. Which will probably be quite a while.
> 
> So right to it.
> 
> This story is writing itself, so a lot of this is just making it up as I go. I have some things planned, but overall, things are just happening. I'm currently a good ten chapters into writing this, and the more I write, the less I like it. However, I started it, so I wanna finish it. Cicero doesn't get enough love, and if I can contribute a story (however mediocre) to the fanbase, then I'll be happy.
> 
> I'd love to hear any feedback and opinions y'all might have so that I can use it to push myself to finish this little project of mine. Sharing theories is also encouraged!
> 
> I'll only say this once: reviews are every writer's lifeblood.
> 
> This will be a slow burn, so I'm sorry if things start off a little tedious. Obviously, some things won't be canon. I try to input some things from the game, but I'm doing my best not to make it a copy/paste with my OC.
> 
> There will be multiple references to a song that the main character sings, and you can find it here:
> 
> Crazy - Patsy Cline
> 
> watch?v=zmNFGtBQTYw&index=2&list=PLxpAhUhEhdCbBrAx0ngAJgdRmoQv6EKhn
> 
> If other songs are mentioned, I will put a link to it in the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> I just wanna thank anyone ahead of time who takes the time to read this or follow it.
> 
> I won't bore you guys any more with my chatter. On to the story!

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

 

_prologue_

 

 

For so long, there was silence.

In his first few years of solitude in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, there was nothing but the laughing of the Jester in Cicero’s mind. The laughter – a gift from his beloved Night Mother – gave him the company he so longed for. The last soul that he had sent to Sithis had been sent back to him to push him through the long days and nights of waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

And keeping.

But the laughter had gone. It wasn’t there lingering in his head any longer.

It wasn’t until he had opened his mouth to hear himself speak in what felt like a lifetime. His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears, but it was heavenly. It was a _sound_ , and he didn’t need to wait on the Jester in his mind to make it for him. Why, poor Cicero could create his own laughter now. Another blessing the Night Mother had sent to him, he was sure. The gift to alleviate the painful emptiness of these cold, stone halls.

He laughed and laughed. Until he couldn’t.

He laughed until he hurt, and when his voice was too sore to laugh, he would whisper sweet nothing’s to his beloved goddess’s corpse. Oh, how Cicero had longed to hear his darling Mother speak to him. He may not be the Listener he so desired to be, but she could be _his_ listener, oh yes. He knew his Matron heard him, even if she didn’t want to speak back to poor Cicero. If he was the only one in the sanctuary there to give the Night Mother the reverence she deserved, then he would make sure to give her the adoration of a full, bustling Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary.

But at other times, he was tired of talking. He got tired of laughing. His own voice had become the only sound he knew other than the scrape of his leather-clad feet on stone. It was at this point when he began tapping, began dancing, began moving his feet to the rhythm in his head so hard that he couldn’t hear the song anymore over the beating of his own heart.

And then he would stop. He would remove one of the gold-trimmed gloves and place a hand on his chest, enjoying the pleasant thump of blood rushing through his body. And sometimes he had to resist the urge to cry.

It was proof that he was _alive_.

Cicero wasn’t a figment of his own imagination, and the thump beneath his slender fingers was the validation he needed to last another day. Or at the very least, to get him through another sleepless night.

The days and nights blended together in the dark sanctuary. After days of fighting his own mind, trying to find solace in something that wasn’t really there, his vision would go black and Cicero would wake up somewhere on cold stone. He would wake up to silence, and when his mind realized this, he would laugh and cry out and force the adrenaline of false joy to revive his tired body.

There were times, however, when Cicero left his humble, underground sanctuary.

Cicero was a mortal, unlike his beloved Matron, and required sustenance. He would wait until light no longer shone through the trapdoor of his home, wait a few more hours, and then climb the ladder up into the city.

Silence was his enemy. But silence was also his friend.

The jester would throw his leg over the edge of the false well, the velvet of his motley sliding softly against his skin. He’d sneak into town, expertly avoiding the eyes of the Cheydinhal guards, and steal whatever food he found in the local markets. He’d never be gone longer than twenty minutes, and afterwards he’d descend back into his underground asylum for another week or two. He’d never be seen, oh no. Cicero was far too clever for that.

But sometimes his traitorous loneliness would urge him to be seen. To speak to another living soul.

But it wasn’t the Keeper’s place to socialize. Socializing meant getting attached, and getting attached meant keeping the Keeper from his duties. The Keeper kept, and would continue keeping until the Dark Lady brought their family to lonely Cicero once again.

This was how he survived. And this was how he’d stay until a Listener was found. It would happen, he knew. He just needed to wait.

Days turned into months, and months turned into years.

In time, everything became one thing and nothing changed. But he remembered the first time he heard the singing.

He heard it clearly, echoing off the walls of the Brotherhood sanctuary. At first he believed it to be foolish Cicero’s mind playing tricks on him yet again, but it was too vivid, too clear, too different. There hadn’t been a voice like this in Cicero’s tired mind before. He rose from his seated position in front of the Night Mother’s coffin and followed it. The cold stone walls reflected the voice, surrounding him and swimming into his eardrums more and more with every step. He followed it to the end of the ladder leading up into the false well and into the city.

He gazed up into the soft moonlight spilling through the metal grate, eyes locked open as the song washed over him.

 

_“Crazy… I’m crazy for feeling so lonely._

_I’m crazy…_

_Crazy for feeling so blue.”_

 

A woman’s voice.

Cicero dropped slowly to his knees. He could feel it. He could feel the sorrow in this song sang especially for him. It had to be a gift. His Night Mother had heard him, and offered him solace in the form of a maiden’s soft singing.

 

_“I knew you’d love me as long as you wanted…_

_then someday, you’d leave me for somebody new.”_

 

The permanent grin that strained the red-haired jester’s face melted away, leaving an ache in his cheeks and jaw. His creased brow relaxed into something almost painful, but he couldn’t be bothered to feel it.

 

  
_“Worry…_ _Why do I let myself worry?_

_Wondering what in the world did I do?_

_Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you…_ _”_

 

His craned neck began to ache, but the ache in his chest chased away any physical pain that he was feeling. He slowly pulled a glove off of his hand and brought it to his face. The wetness on his finger surprised him, and he glanced away from the moonlight momentarily to make sure the tears were real.

 

_“_ _I’m crazy for trying… crazy for crying..._

_And I’m crazy for loving you._ _”_

 

As the mysterious voice finished up her tune, he heard the shuffling of clothing and a shadow cast off the moonlight bathing his face. His frame was shrouded in darkness yet again.

He was stunned out of his momentary paralysis when a drop of something wet fell to his face. He sat there, silent as the grave, and the droplet dribbled down his cheek and onto the corner of his mouth. His tongue slowly grazed his lips, and the tangy taste of salt felt like it belonged there.

He felt shattered and whole.

He felt tragic and elated.

And for the first time in years, Cicero didn’t feel alone.

 

*

 

The youngest Vicharelli daughter left the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn without a word. It was nearing midnight, but the two sisters staying at the inn had an arrangement with each other that allowed for daytime sleeping. It was alright, though. The youngest never cared much for the hustle and bustle of the city in the mornings. The moonlight shone brightly tonight, and the cool chill of late Hearthfire had the young imperial girl pulling her thick cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Severia had hours to kill, and so she wandered the streets of Cheydinhal humming quietly to herself. She kept the hood of her cloak up, not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that a girl barely into womanhood was walking around by herself in the dead of night. The guards never gave her any trouble, but she could tell they were unnerved by her.

There were plenty of nasty rumors floating around about the young woman, so she couldn’t blame them too much. The Vicharelli’s were once a famous and powerful family in the Imperial City, but everything changed after the birth of their youngest child. Mysterious deaths seemed to follow the child wherever she went, yet she always remained unperturbed by it. A couple years back, Severia was exiled from the family and the Imperial City after her father had stumbled upon a rather disturbing scene in the Vicharelli matron’s bedroom. Only her elder sister had faith in Severia, and she fled with the child to whichever city had the most work for her. Nowadays, the two women spent their days in Cheydinhal doing whatever they could to get by. And at times, like tonight, it involved her caring older sister taking a stranger into her bed.

The eldest Vicharelli, Vaudina, never allowed for Severia to sell her body the way she had, even though she had offered on numerous occasions. Vaudina always had the excuse that she didn’t leave their luxurious life behind just to fail at protecting her little sister.

Severia didn’t mind that her sister had to go thought that, though. In the end, it was ultimately Vaudina’s choice. She didn’t make her older sister leave the Imperial City.

Severia’s eldest sister was a lot of things. She was beautiful and graceful. Emotionally strong and caring. But she took on the burden that was Severia with the duty of a knight protecting it’s queen. It was annoying at times, but Severia admitted that it was nice to have at least one person who wanted her alive.

Severia’s thoughts were interrupted when she bumped shoulders with another woman. The blonde imperial turned to apologize to the cloaked girl, but immediately tensed up and scuttled away upon seeing Severia under said cloak.

She merely continued on her walk, not paying mind to the nightly routine of someone running away from her. She hums and sings everywhere she goes, and normally the townsfolk hear her before they see her. It was her way of warning them she was coming, and avoiding the awkward interactions much like the one she’d just had.

Obviously, though, it didn’t always work.

The townsfolk came to call her the Siren, and that made Severia roll her eyes. She was sure they thought they were super clever, and _didn’t_ think that she’d been called that since childhood. It was also likely that the moniker had traveled here from the Imperial City. When one sang as much as she did, and death followed her as much as it did, certain names seemed to stick.

It didn’t bother her, though. Not much did. She adored her sister more than anything, but that didn’t say a whole lot. Emotions didn’t work the same way in Severia as they did most people, she’d noticed. She knew when she was supposed to feel certain things, but her body and heart couldn’t catch up. Even when she was cast out of her family home, she had merely thought of it as inconvenient. Severia went through the days one at a time, hoping that maybe someday she would feel something like the feelings described in the tavern songs.

She continued humming the same tune, the same one she always did. Her Aunt Ali sang the song to her often as a child. It brought her peace to hear the melody, and got her as close to _feeling_ as she felt was possible.  
She walked along the outer walls of the city behind the local homes. Back here, she was less likely to run into people. She liked it better that way.

She crept quietly, lowering her humming to a soft whisper, not wanting to deal with the threat of trespassing. When she came upon the local abandoned house, she stopped walking. She looked at the old home curiously. She hadn’t really put much thought into the place, and she was sure she’d never been behind it like this. Her eyes drifted to the old run-down well that sat in the grass behind the house, and she walked over to peer down. Severia distantly noticed that there was no glimmer of water through the metal grate that covered the well.

She leaned in a little closer, the smell of dirt and rock hitting her nose. Not the typical humid, mildewy smell that tended to linger around these old things.

As she pulled herself away from the well, something held her there.

Something clenched around her heart, and her breathing felt immediately labored as if she’d been punched in the gut.

There was a humming in her ear that wasn’t hers, and it echoed off the walls of her skull, making her dizzy. She slumped down against the wall of the well, her now-sweaty hands plastered against the old, cold stone.

 

_**“Sing for me, my daughter.”** _

 

Severia opened her mouth to gasp, but after the air filled her lungs, she poured everything she had out into her song. With each note that escaped her lips, something filled her up to take it’s place. She felt cold and warm, and something in her chest poured out of her that she hadn’t heard before.

Her lips trembled as she felt the cold embrace of something ethereal around her shoulders, lifting her up to settle on the edge of the well. She looked down into the darkness of the well as she sang, feeling the pull of _something_ that made her whole body itch.

With the last word of her song, a tear slid down her face and fell into the shadows. The mysterious hold on her body lifted itself away, and suddenly Severia felt very heavy. The heavy brown curls of her hair plastered themselves to the side of her face and neck, the cold sweat there keeping it in place. She sat there in a daze wondering if she had just imaged everything that just transpired.

In a single moment, she felt _everything_.

Tears drifted down her face freely now, and she cried silently for the first time in her fifteen years.


	2. Chapter One

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

 

_Chapter One_

 

“Where are you going? I just told you that there wasn’t any business to handle tonight.” Vaudina Vicharelli stepped in front of door of their shared bedroom, effectively blocking off the only exit in the small room. Severia opened her mouth in frustration, but hesitated. What her mind told her she should say wasn’t aligning with what was going to come out of her mouth if she spoke. And it frustrated Severia.

Instead of answering her sister, she merely walked up to the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. Vaudina pressed her back fully against the door, keeping it shut. “Where are you going?” she demanded again, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Severia sighed and let go of the doorknob, if only to pacify her sister. “I want to go out for a bit. I’ll be back.”

“Why can’t you stay in tonight?”

“After I’ve finished what I need to do, I’ll come back.”

The eldest sister crossed her arms and huffed. “How long will you be gone?”

Severia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying to stave off the chill that ran up her spine. She felt herself getting _angry_. She knew that was it. But she wasn’t accustomed to the feeling and was trying not to let it affect her. She couldn’t hold back the glare she shot toward her sister though. “I’ll be back when I’m ready to.”

Vaudina’s mouth popped open slightly, and she slowly sidestepped to allow her younger sister passage.

And with that, Severia hurried up the stairs of the inn and out of the door. She wasted no time and set her walk straight toward the old well.

She had to know if what she felt the night before was real. Had to know what it had done to her if it was. Had to know _who_ it was. It spoke to her, she was sure. Something in her clicked into place last night and it set her whole body on edge.

Upon reaching the well, she placed her palms on the edge and leaned forward. At first there was nothing. It was just a dusty old hunk of rocks that led into a dark pit.

But then it came. The feeling of… _something_ , was there, pulling on her heart- making it palpitate. And she opened her mouth and sang once again for it.

There it was. The simultaneous feeling of her soul being drained and being filled to point of bursting. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to _laugh_. Thousands of unknown feelings passed through Severia in the span of a second, and it was almost too much.

She felt those ethereal hands lovingly caress her forearms, and while it should’ve been unnerving, it was nothing short of blissful. Whatever was down there loved her.

It was an enigma that she’d die for.

It was dangerous. It was thrilling. And for the first time Severia felt alive.

  


*

  


Over time, she never did venture down into the well. Whatever she felt was calling her would push back the moment she tried to pry the grate from it’s place on the well’s entrance. She bounced between feeling welcomed and being intrusive. It was the most peculiar thing she had ever felt, and she came back almost every night for more.

Whatever her Enigma was doing for her, that seemed to be all it was. Severia would sing for it, but the moment she tried to find out more, her body would flood with such disappointment that it left her throat dry and chest uncomfortably tight. It was as if her Enigma was upset with her.

Like a mother chastising a child.

It never spoke to her again, either. Over time, Severia began to question if she had really heard the voice in her head that first night.

She always left that abandoned, dried up well feeling like someone completely different. The emotions and thoughts flooded her normally mundane mind and barren heart. Was she even Severia anymore? Or… had she even been the true Severia until now?

It was thrilling. It was a drug. It never failed to leave her breathless and craving for more.

It always wanted her to sing. Something pulled the notes straight from her vocal chords, and sometimes she wouldn’t realize that she started singing until she was almost done her piece.

When her sister decided it was time to move on from Cheydinhal, Severia immediately protested. She refused to go anywhere, and said that if she wanted to leave, Vaudina could go without her.

That had made her stay.

When they struggled to find more work and their being able to stay in Cheydinhal was threatened, Severia spoke with one of the local beggars. After befriending him and dropping him the spare septim here and there, he told her about the thieves guild and what they do. She didn’t necessarily like the idea of working with a group of people just to steal things, so she went on her own. When she started coming home with more money than was normal, Vaudina approached the young girl about it. After telling her that she had been stealing, Vaudina had given her the sternest talking to that she’d ever gotten from the older imperial. But as Severia continued coming home with more and more gold, Vaudina had merely sighed and told her to be more careful. She couldn’t stop her younger sister, and once she had set her mind on something, it was done. And Vaudina often let Severia get her way.

As it turned out, Severia was actually quite good at stealing. She was short and light on her feet, and her tan skin and brown hair helped her blend into the shadows easier. Severia was actually surprisingly fond of stealing. The danger gave her body a thrilling adrenaline rush, something she’d never felt until her Enigma.

She’d slowly started increasing the danger in her heists, as well as making more friends in low places. There was a fence in Cheydinhal that frequently bought her goods, and would sell them out of the city so that it didn’t seem as suspicious.

“You should really try your hand in the Imperial City,” the fence had told her once. “There’s so much more gold to be made there.”

Severia had merely shook her head and told them that Cheydinhal was home and she couldn’t stand to be gone for long. Most thought it was her sister’s presence in town, but both sisters knew it was the old well.

After the first week of Severia sneaking out, Vaudina had followed to see what her sister had been getting into and merely found her singing behind the old abandoned house. She hadn’t bothered to follow again. Vaudina had feared that her little sister had been seeing a man, and she knew firsthand just how terrible an influence they could be to a young woman.

Vaudina knew the song was special, and she knew better than to interrupt it.

But even as Severia aged into a grown woman of twenty, with hips that would make a priestess of Dibella blush, her eyes and thoughts never really strayed to men. She’d heard of the wonders of sex and the feeling it left the recipient with, but it sounded too similar to the rush she got from singing to her Enigma in the well. Why go through the trouble of finding and wooing a man, just to get a result she could’ve gotten with a fraction of the effort?

She bought a house for her sister as thanks for the years they spent in exile together, and Vaudina opened up an honest shop that sold produce from the local farms. Severia often funded Vaudina’s shop a little extra so that when the town beggars came around, they would be given something to eat. The information they gave her had made her life as a thief much easier, and repaying the debt kept her in their high favor.

It also meant that they were a lot less likely to sell her out to the wrong people if someone suspected her.

Her nights out would often start out at the old well for good luck, singing to the unknown entity that enveloped her in a feeling one could only describe as love. It had taken Severia months to distinguish the feeling, and once the word came to her, she really felt it to it’s full extent.

The one in that well loved her, and so she’d keep coming back to sing for it every night as long as it would allow. She may never quite know what exactly was in that well, but that was okay. It kept her feeling full and satisfied, and loved beyond measure.

Much better than rutting with some drunk from a pub.

She’d always leave the well feeling clear headed and rejuvenated and ready for a big heist.

On a normal evening at the old well, she’d heard the soft footsteps of someone approach her from behind. She didn’t bother to look, for the occasional beggar would come to hear her song. Rumors of the Siren’s song kept most citizens away, but the few homeless who knew her personally were never afraid. Instead, she began to pour out everything she felt in that moment to the one thing in life she felt _anything_ for. The thing that _gave_ her the gift of feeling.

When her song ended and her head became clear, she turned around to face whoever had interrupted her intimate moment. Whoever had approached her, however, was gone.

  


*

  


Cicero wrapped his arms tightly around himself, allowing his back to press up against the cold stone walls of the sanctuary. He couldn’t escape the nervous giggles that erupted from his throat, and he stared blankly at one of the Black Hand tapestries that hung from the sanctuary walls.

He had taken a risk that he shouldn’t have. Oh, but how poor Cicero felt so _alive_. He felt awful and foolish, but _oh,_ how the song still caressed him in his mind.

The song, the song, the song. The song his little bird sang for him.

The sweet composition that lulled poor Cicero into sleep most nights. It was the only thing that silenced the laughter in his head. The two minutes out of his day when the maiden came to sing to poor Cicero was what gave him the strength to push through to the next morning. It helped the insomniac fight the restless nights, and he felt better after a night of being lulled to sleep through her song. On nights when she didn’t come, however, he wouldn’t sleep. Not a wink. And the first time she didn’t show, it took everything Cicero had not to go and hunt the girl down.

No, it wasn’t the Keeper’s job to _hunt_. Oh no. That ended when he took the position of Keeper. If the song was a gift from Mother, then it was Mother’s to give and take as she pleased.

But oh, how the waiting _hurt_.

But it wasn’t like Cicero knew who this little bird was. He didn’t know anything about her but for the sound of her voice as she sang that beautiful, heart-wrenching tune for poor Cicero.

But he felt he owed much to this woman. He knew she was a gift from Mother just as the jester had been. The jester was a big part of himself, and the laughter had made its home in Cicero years before he’d heard the song. But when the laughter no longer became enough, Mother gave him a little extra to keep him going. He owed every bit of his happiness to his beloved Matron.

And kept him going, it did. Before her, Cicero had not slept. He would pass out from exhaustion on occasion, and he lost track of the days. But with her song coming every night, at the same time, it kept him stable. He slept easily every time she sang to him, and the next day he would wake feeling rejuvenated. The appreciation for his new gift had made him an even better Keeper, polishing and preserving and cleaning the Night Mother and the makeshift shrine he had created for her daily.

It fought off his desire to seek company. He still desired to be with other people, but it was a leisure the Keeper wasn’t allowed. He couldn’t allow himself. Especially when the company he knew he’d seek would be from his little bird. Cicero couldn’t risk a distraction like that.

Cicero let out a rattled sigh, letting himself slide down the wall to the cold floor. He gripped both knees with gloved hands and hunched over, allowing his head to rest on his wrists.

Oh, but it hadn’t stopped poor Cicero from imagining.

His little bird had to be beautiful if her voice was anything to go by. She was likely a tall, shapely blonde imperial lady. Someone with shimmering ocean blue eyes that looked straight through oneself. With long, feathery, ebony lashes that would barely caress the peaks of her cheeks every time she closed her eyes. And oh, how her mouth must look. The mouth that filled poor Cicero with such joy and solace, oh how it must be plump and pink and beautiful.

He sighed, pulling on the red locks of hair that barely touched his shoulders.

But now poor Cicero had to leave. He had to leave with Mother.

It’d been long enough, and there is no Listener here. It was his duty to give his beloved Matron a Listener, and there _was no Listener here_ , as much as he wished it so. He wished countless times that he could be his Mother’s chosen, but alas, poor Cicero was not chosen.

However, Cicero had made the last minute decision to try and find out who his little bird was before leaving forever. Over the years, he’d convince himself he didn’t need to know anything about the person behind the song, because the song was all he needed. But his time with his little bird was up, and after tonight he’d never see her again. Not that he’d seen her at all before anyway, but he’d never hear her voice again. Mother’s new home was far, far away. He’d be reunited with his Dark Family once again. There would no longer be a need for his little bird’s song.

If he sought her out tonight then that would be it, Cicero insisted. It would change nothing.

He would still leave, and his little bird would be nothing but a pleasant memory.

Surely Mother would understand this one weakness.

He had sneaked out through the passage in the abandoned house, and climbed through the hatch in the ceiling once night had fallen. He sat quietly on the roof of the abandoned house and waited for her approach.

When she finally did show, her entire figure was covered from head to toe in a large gray cloak, much to Cicero’s dismay.

She was small. Much smaller than Cicero had expected.

 _Little_ bird, indeed. If she was full-grown, she had to be either an imperial or a breton girl. His little bird stepped up to the well, allowing her fingers, tan human fingers he noticed, to graze the stone of the old well. He lowered himself to the grass below with all the dexterity and stealth of a proper assassin, eyes never leaving the back of his little bird.

If she heard him, she didn’t give away that she had. Instead, she wasted no time delving into her song.

Cicero froze, mind reeling.

She was but four feet away, and she was singing so clearly for him.

While at the bottom of the old well, the notes reverberated off the stone walls and surrounded Cicero with the natural, beautiful acoustics. It coated his entire being in her song, washed over him, and felt that that must be how the Listener feels when the Night Mother speaks to them.

But this.

It was clear.

Direct.

 _Personal_. Like a conversation.

Cicero shuffled his feet slightly, not having the sense of mind to berate himself for making noise. When he felt the first drop of nervous sweat slide down the side of his face, he let out a shuddering breath. Part of him wanted to steal his little bird away for himself, because she _was_ his. Mother had deemed it so. But if his little bird did not _want_ to go with poor Cicero… that was a risk to the Night Mother he wasn’t willing to take.

As the end of her song approached, he melded back into the shadows of the abandoned house. He’d wait there until she left. He’d see his little bird’s face, at least. He would.

Cicero’s heart sunk to his stomach when she pulled the hood of her cloak farther down her face before turning around. She quickly walked back the way she came, head hung low. He waited for just a moment after she left before jumping back down to the ground.

He whirled around the corner of the building to follow her, but she had already gone.

He shook his head to himself, ridding the thoughts of his mysterious little bird.

No. Mother came first. As Cicero made his way down the trap door of the well, he grumbled to himself, repeating over and over how foolish Cicero was a terrible Keeper.

  


*

  


Severia couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. The cold bite of Sun’s Dusk chilled her to the bone, and all color left her face.

She stood at the foot of the old well, staring down into the shadows that housed her Enigma.

But there was no one.

She couldn’t feel it.

She tried singing her song for the ethereal being, tried singing a different song even. But nothing came. No cold, loving hands wrapped around her shoulders or caressed her face. No pulling at her heart.

It was just an empty fucking well.

Panic flooded Severia in an instant, and she gripped the grate on the top of the well, pulling it off with a grunt. She had not been reprimanded and she felt like crying. To her surprise, there was an old wooden ladder leading down into the depths. Her breath hitched in her throat and she grabbed the rails to descend into the dark.

Her years of thievery had made her eyes adjust immediately to the almost pitch blackness that was the base of the well.

The well opened into a huge living area covered in ornate red rugs and wooden tables and chairs. The stone walls were high and sported banners with black hand prints. She wandered up to one of the banners, allowing her fingers to graze along the edge of the woven tapestry. Severia shook her head and took a step back, taking in more of the room. There were two sets of double doors on opposite walls, as well as two hallways. She took her time to explore the dark rooms, finding it to resemble a type of barracks. She could tell it had been furnished once, but most of the wooden furnishings had been destroyed at some point. After following the last hallway out, she came upon a most peculiar door.

It didn’t scare her, but felt like it should have. She walked up to the black skull door that gave off an eerie red glow and placed a palm against the same black hand print she’d seen on the banners. It gave off a low hum, much like the feeling she got from singing to her Enigma.

But this wasn’t it.

After trying to budge the door open and failing, it had hissed loudly in her ears, asking her what the color of night was. Severia took a wary step back, thinking over the question.

This place was probably just as cursed as she was, if not more so.

“B-Black?” she stuttered, waiting for a response. When she got none, she attempted to open it again only to find it still tightly sealed. She huffed and walked away, eyes wandering over the strange place again. That black hand print was everywhere, and it had to have something to do with the thing that used to be down here.

She’d be damned if she didn’t find out what it meant.

  


*

  


After retreating back to the home she shared with her eldest sister, she walked straight into Vaudina’s bedroom without knocking. The older woman roused suddenly and crankily from her slumber, wondering what had woken her.

“Vaudina,” Severia stood over her sister’s bed, brown eyes boring holes into the sleepy woman’s face. The eldest rubbed at her eyes, wondering what her sister had woken her up for that was so important. “What do you know about a black hand print symbol?”

Vaudina stopped rubbing at her eyes and looked up. She hesitated before saying, “Where have you seen that mark?”

Severia shrugged and sighed loudly, not wanting to be the one answering questions. “I saw a banner. What does it mean?” Upon seeing her sister’s face paling, Severia was sure her sister knew something and was not telling her. After fighting off her stunned silence, Vaudina sat up straight in her bed to lock angry eyes with impatient ones.

“Where have you been snooping that you do not belong, Severia? Who have you been speaking to?”

“If you don’t answer my question, I will find someone who will.”

The two Vicharelli sisters stared each other down, neither wanting to back down. Severia’s patience was running thin, and fast. With a huff, Vaudina sat back against the headboard of her bed, bringing her fingers up to rub her temples.

“How is it that you manage to find trouble everywhere you go?” Vaudina said tiredly. The younger sister clenched her fist and glared daggers. “It seems I can’t turn my back for one second without you doing something reckless or illegal. Most of the time it’s both. Why can’t you just listen to me for once instead of running headfirst into danger?”

That was it. She wasn’t going to help. “Sorry that you were cursed the with Siren for a sister.” the younger woman snapped back. Severia obviously wasn’t going to learn anything more here. There was no point in staying. “There’s a spare coin purse in my nightstand. Use it if you must.”

Severia left the room without a glance back as her older sister shouted after her to come back.

Severia took to the streets of Cheydinhal, easily staying one step ahead of her tired and worried sister. She passed by the old well one last time, hoping for something. She placed her hand on the old familiar stone for one last time, and upon sensing nothing, headed straight for the west gate of the city. The well would be the first place her sister looked, and she’d be damned if she had to say goodbye to a second person in one night.

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, this story is also posted on Fanfiction.net!  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12885157/1/The-Keeper-s-Lullaby
> 
> Updates will go there first before I get around to posting here.  
> I also put more time into the formatting on that site.  
> Whatever floats your boat!

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Two_

  


Severia didn’t waste time in heading straight to the Imperial City of Cyrodiil. The cold wind of late winter ripped at her thick cloak, causing it to billow behind her. With the hood of her cloak up and seven years of aging, the guards at the gate didn’t recognize her as the exiled Vicharelli child. Dawn was quickly approaching, and she made her way to the Waterfront. Her father had often told her to stay away from the slums of the city, but she knew that because of that, it was where she’d find the information she wanted.

It didn’t take her long to bribe someone into giving her the information. Thieves tend to know their own, so she had walked straight up to an older woman sitting by a fire in the middle of the poor housing. The older imperial woman was on high alert, as thieves tend to be, and when her blue eyes landed on Severia, she gasped.

“Vaudina?” she had asked.

“Never heard of her.” Severia lied.

The older woman simply chuckled and let her eyes roam freely over the younger woman’s partially hidden face. “No, not Vaudina. She’d be older by now.” she stared at Severia a moment longer, taking in the similarities the two sisters had. “You must be the freaky little sister. Damn, how you’ve grown.”

Severia’s eyes narrowed at the insult, and she grabbed a pouch of coins from her waist and threw it to the offending woman. She caught it with quick reflexes and little effort. “I’d prefer to keep the fact that I came through here quiet. I have some questions I’d like help finding the answers to.” She also didn’t feel much like talking about her older sister, or how the two knew each other.

The woman weighed the pouch carefully in her hand, smiled, and tucked it away. “What would you like to know?”

It had turned out that the black hand print was the symbol of the Dark Brotherhood, an assassin’s group that killed for their gods.

And that this also had been pretty common knowledge. Severia took a moment to curse her apathetic behavior as a child and her inability to pay attention to current events.

The Brotherhood had been supposedly wiped out in Cyrodiil for years now, but there were rumors that they were still active in the Skyrim province.

There. That was all she needed to know. And it only took her five minutes to get it. If only Vaudina had been as cooperative, then she wouldn’t have had to come to this hellhole of a city.

Severia thought back to her abandoned sister in Cheydinhal. Vaudina Vicharelli had given up everything to be with her and to keep her safe. She’d worked her ass off, and when that didn’t work, she sold herself just to feed her younger sister.

She knew she should feel bad about leaving her without any notice.

She _should_.

Severia thought of her sister as she made her way across the western bridge leading out of the Imperial City. It would add some time to her trip, but she didn’t much care for walking _again_ through the middle of a city she’d been exiled from.

 _Vaudina Vicharelli_ , Severia pondered. She was everything Severia was supposed to be. Beautiful, intelligent, polite, kind, loyal to a fault. She was the family favorite, so it was no surprise that their father had sent troops after the both of them when they fled together. When the sisters had been cornered, Vaudina had threatened to take her own life, and only then had father allowed them to leave. Vaudina was brave and fought relentlessly for those she loved. She just wished she could love her sister back just as much.

Severia Vicharelli, the cursed child with a golden older sister. She didn’t hate her. Oh no. She probably would’ve been envious of her sister had she cared enough. But throughout much of her life, Severia didn’t feel much at all. She was a walking statue, and only upon meeting the Enigma in the well did she truly begin to _feel_ anything.

It took a while to understand and sort through. For fifteen years the closest thing to a feeling had been when she was cast out of the Vicharelli family. And that had only been inconvenient. Why Vaudina saw so much in her astounded her, and as much as she pondered over it, she never could understand why she gave up _everything_ to be with her.

“Because you’re my sister,” she would say.

“But he’s your father,” the youngest would counter.

 _“What about our mother?”_ always remained unsaid.

Vaudina would simply smile, pat her sister’s hair, and continue whatever menial task she deemed important in that moment.

But when Severia sang for the being in the well the first time, something clicked into place and her body felt real for once. Her mind became clearer, and the way she reacted to certain situations surprised herself. She expressed anger, hurt, and happiness at the smallest of things. The elder sister had even caught the younger woman staring at a traveling merchant’s red-haired son. Vaudina had been stunned at the change and overreactions at first, but had accepted them joyfully with the thought that her little sister was finally becoming human.

It didn’t take too long to reel herself back into a semblance of what she used to be. She was once again the cursed child, but with a heart a tad bit bigger. Every time she sang by the well, her rattled emotions became clearer and sorted. It gave her an enlightenment into herself that she didn’t know she’d ever find. But Severia owed whatever was in the well _everything_. It brought her to life, broke her, then put her back together better than she was before. And she’d repay that debt even if it killed her.

She had expected her newfound feelings to give her a stronger sense of familial love for her older sister, but that never came. Vaudina was a one-of-a-kind woman, but Severia couldn’t force herself to love her. She supposed that, in the long run, it was better this way. Severia understood that heartbreak was a powerful emotion, and she had no desire to ever go through it if something had happened to the older woman.

Severia started her trek north towards the Skyrim province. She’d push through the night and make it to Bruma by tomorrow evening. There she could restock her ration supply and hopefully find some thicker clothes better suited to the mountains of Skyrim.

The Dark Brotherhood knew something about the entity in the well. She wouldn’t rest until she knew what.

  


*

  


Two days later and Severia found herself in Bruma. She was familiar enough with the area, having been here a handful of times the past five years. In order to avoid completely robbing the Cheydinhal citizens of everything they owned, Severia had taken the two day trip to Bruma and back by horse. At the time, it left her feeling tense and on edge leaving the well behind. Now that it had been almost four days since she’d felt her beloved Enigma, she was coiled up and ready to bite the head off of anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

She waited on the outskirts of the town until the sun set, leaving Severia in an environment much more to her liking. She was exhausted and hungry, but she kept her wits about her, eyeing the guards by the front gate cautiously. They didn’t pay much attention to the small girl – they never do – and she easily slunk into the backstreets of the town. Almost everyone had gone to sleep by this point, so she made her way into the nearest, nicest looking house she found. She picked the average lock with ease and slipped into the home undetected. There was an older imperial man sitting at the table in the kitchen, so she skipped that room and went straight up the stairs into the master bedroom. There, a woman Severia assumed to be his wife, lay sleeping. She wasted no time in shuffling through drawers and chests, filling her pockets with jewelry, precious stones, and gold. As she turned to leave, she noticed a small glimmer shine out from the old couple’s bed. Severia sauntered up to it, standing to her full height for the first time since walking into the home.

There, around the old woman’s neck, was a beautiful diamond necklace.

With practiced ease, Severia placed her hands on the delicate chain of the necklace, slowly pulling on it until the clasp came into view. The woman shifted slightly in her sleep, her head lolling to the side. Severia paused, waiting for the woman to settle again.

A few moments go by without either party moving, and Severia’s eyes were locked to the visible thrumming of a vein beneath the woman’s skin.

She watched in morbid curiosity, thinking just how easy it would be to slice just half an inch down into the skin and watch her bleed out.

Ah, but that would ruin the lovely piece of jewelry mere inches away from said vein.

Death was a curious thing to Severia. One moment someone existed, and the next they were gone forever. She actually didn’t think too much about it. The fact that she could remove someone from this plane of existence with a single stroke of her blade if she willed it was enough to leave Severia pleased.

However, murderers were often persecuted a lot more aggressively than a common thief. And Severia didn’t want to be bothered with that.

She resumed her task, delicately pinching the clasp of the necklace and sliding it away from from the woman’s neck. She slid the new addition into the leather pouch at her waist and moved back to the bedroom door. After seeing that the older man was still at his table, a glass of wine in hand, she slipped out the front door just as quietly as she came.

The fence in Bruma was wide awake, as she was, and wasted no time in taking her goods and paying her substantially for it. She bid the old argonian woman goodbye, and slipped back into the shadows of Bruma.

Lowering the hood of her cloak, she strode into the nearest inn, paid for her room with stolen gold, and went up to bed.

Only after she closed the door behind her did Severia relax the tension in her shoulders. She let out a heavy sigh and plopped onto the thin mattress of the rented bed. She didn’t remove any of her clothes before falling into a restless slumber.

  


*

  


The border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim was heavily guarded.

Severia wondered what exactly they were trying to keep out of the country, but when she was able to bribe the guard to let her through, she decided that whatever it was must not be too dangerous. She pulled her favorite gray cloak tighter around her shoulders, appreciating the fact that she thought to buy some new fur boots. The mountain pass leading into Skyrim was windy, and she struggled to keep her hood pulled over her head.

She followed the path littered with imperial guards, none of whom paid her any mind. One man, a man not in uniform, had approached her asking if she needed some extra help keeping warm. She had merely ignored him and burst into a full run, weaving expertly through the guards and travelers. It took her only minutes to lose him, and she let out a sigh as she slowed into a walk again.

By the nines, if she hadn’t run she would’ve stabbed him.

The days without her Enigma were piling up, building tension throughout the young Vicharelli’s mind and body. Her patience was running low, and her irritation was on the rise. She hummed her favorite tune to herself, attempting to soothe her wild emotions. It worked for the time being, and she continued her walk north for the next few hours.

By dusk, she was out of the mountains and in a town called Helgen. The populace was filled mostly with imperials like herself, so it was easy to find an inn to rest in and familiar food to eat. Before lulling herself to sleep with her tune, she actually removed her boots and fell to the bed.

Severia spent the next month wandering the new country, stealing whatever she could to get by, keeping an ear out for rumors of the Brotherhood, and moving on to another town. She’d heard of a town called Riften that was home to the local Thieves Guild, and thought her search would best start there. She headed east, around the giant mountain that sat in the middle of the country, and followed the path that led to Riften.

After running into bandits for the second time, Severia pulled the steel dagger that she kept hidden in her large fur boot and decided to tie its sheath to the belt where she kept her money pouch. It’d still remain hidden under her large wool cloak, but it would be much more accessible if she was unable to run away next time.

After a few days on the road with little rest and avoiding bandits, Severia found herself in the thieves’ hub know as Riften. She made her way to the local bar and inn, stopping to read the sign before walking in.

_“_ _The Bee and Barb.”_

Severia sighed tiredly and opened the door, walking in and taking a seat at the bar. After ordering a glass of Cyrodillic wine and being disappointed when they didn’t carry it, she settled for a mug of the local Black-Briar mead. She didn’t sip her drink however, and she closed her eyes and listened to the patrons in the bar.

Most of it was generic man-grumbling, nords shouting at each other about besting the other in combat, and the simple bribe here and there. Severia sighed for the fiftieth time that day and kept her eyes closed as she listened to the local bard play her lute. Severia was humming along to the pleasant tune when she felt a presence walk up behind her. She kept her head lowered, choosing not to acknowledge whoever had approached her. The person leaned their elbows on the counter next to her and inclined their head towards the lone imperial girl. When realizing Severia wasn’t going to look at him, he leaned in a little closer and spoke.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh lass?”

Bingo.

Severia faked a wary glare and shot it at the man who approached her. He was handsome by average standards, but his voice is what gave her a slight tingle in her stomach. That was new. And was that red hair? Don’t see that too often anymore. She always did like red hair. “I’m sorry, what?”

He grinned at her, revealing a row of surprisingly white teeth. A month in this country gave one the impression that hygiene wasn’t a huge staple here. “I’m saying you’ve got the coin, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly.” His smooth voice dropped an octave. “I can tell.”

Thieves were always able to identify their own. And from what her instincts were telling her, he was one of the more skilled ones. He probably sensed the same thing in her.

“My wealth is none of your business.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, lass.” He took the seat right next to hers, leaning in just a bit closer. Damn. He smelled nice for a big, hairy nord. Since when did she even notice things like that? “Wealth _is_ my business.” His green eyes lingered on her brown ones for a second too long, and she internally questioned the intent in what he said next. “Maybe you’d like a taste?”

He was her guy.

She’d never paid men much mind in the past, but then again, she’d never been hit on by a redhead. And that accent was exotic and beautiful. But, alas, he was still a big, hairy nord. Bedding this man would probably feel like the equivalent of rolling around in a juniper bush. And Severia had awfully sensitive skin.

She gave him one of her sly grins that she reserved specifically for others of her profession. “I work alone. Sorry.” She turned in her seat so that her head and torso were facing him. “But there may be something _you_ can do for _me_.”

  


*

  


When Severia had excused herself from the man named Brynjolf’s presence, he had politely offered to escort her to her room.

This gave her room for pause.

She hesitated, and for the first time, wondered what exactly was so great about bedding someone. Though she was the prime age of twenty, she had never given away that aspect of herself. Hell, she never gave any of herself to _anyone_. She didn’t love anyone in that way, and she didn’t trust anyone enough to put herself in that vulnerable of a position. Not to mention she’d never really been propositioned.

But this was definitely a proposition.

This man was sly and athletic and _sneaky_. Sneaky was probably the last word she wanted associated with a bed partner, but his red hair and beautiful accent were awfully persuasive. But the look in his eyes was anything but dangerous, and they promised a night of careful attention and patience. That tingle in her stomach was still there, however small it may be. She was bored and tense and longing for the release singing to her Enigma gave her. It had been far too long and she was likely to break from the stress soon.

If she couldn’t get her release the way she wanted, then maybe the old-fashioned way was worth a shot.

And the winter air left her sensitive skin dry and flaky. She could use a good exfoliation.

She had said nothing for a moment, and Brynjolf had shifted his weight to the other foot, patiently awaiting an answer. Once she smiled and let one of her tan hands slide into his own, he returned her smile eagerly and followed her up the stairs.

He had been eager to please her, and she had given him the liberty of roaming her body at his leisure. Her eyes stayed focused on him, however, even when he had given her her first release via that honeyed tongue. Not a moment later he was inside her, anxious to receive his own. When she grunted in pain, he’d slowly pulled back. He was shocked to find blood there, and when he quickly looked up to her face in panicked question, she merely pulled his hips back to her with her strong legs. It only took Brynjolf a moment to oblige her, and oblige her he did.

After they were both out of breath from their lovemaking, if one could call it that, Brynjolf was slowly standing and gathering his clothes. Severia watched every move he made as she counted the beats of her heart.

Yes. It wasn’t the same as singing for her Enigma, but it did what it was meant to.

And, admittedly, she didn’t hate it.

The redhead eyed her warily, but the grin on his face betrayed him. “By the look on your face, seems you don’t want me lingering.” He pulled his brown linen pants up over his hips and tied the strings. “Got a name, lass?”

Severia chuckled despite herself, and shook her head. She was in a surprisingly good mood. All of the irritation and anger that had been haunting her for the past month had seemed to float away. It was liberating.

Brynjolf merely shrugged, used to people in their field being secretive. After he was fully dressed, he walked to the entryway of her rented room. “I know how hard it can be for people like us to trust others,” he started, looking back to lock eyes with her. “But if you ever find yourself wanting for safe company, lass, you know where to find me.”

After the door closed, Severia pulled the bed covers away from her body to examine herself. She was sore and messy, but overall free of tension and pleased. After grabbing a nearby rag and wiping herself down the best she could, she pulled the sheets back over her and fell into a deep sleep.

Once she found what she was looking for, maybe she would take Brynjolf up on his offer.


	4. Chapter Three

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Three_

  


Severia looked out over the Riften marketplace, pondering the new information she was given the night before. She could see Brynjolf at one of the stands trying to distract a gathered crowd while one of his subordinates stole from one of the other stalls. The average guard and citizen would miss it, but she knew exactly where to look and when. She knew a scam when she saw one.

Brynjolf caught her gaze out of the corner of his eyes, and he spared her a quick wink before going back to his bogus speech. She allowed the small smile to grace her lips before pushing thoughts of the night before away from her.

The Dark Brotherhood was definitely active here in Skyrim.

And from what she’d heard last night, this was the only place they were active after the destruction of their bases in Cyrodiil a decade ago. But if they hadn’t been active in Cyrodiil for that long, then that must’ve meant that there never was anyone down in that old place under the well.

Allowing herself a moment of respite, Severia pushed back the gray hood on her head and ran a hand through the thick mass of brown curls. She preferred her shoulder-length hair to be pulled back into a bun or tied, but the constant pulling gave her a headache. She scratched at her scalp gently, the slight grease reminding herself to find somewhere to bathe in the next day or two.

But that would have to wait. Information on the Brotherhood was far and in between, and even asking about them to the wrong people made you a target. Brynjolf had been a special case and found her interest in them fascinating. She had an inkling that he knew more than he let on, but what he shared was enough.

“ _Nobody finds the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood finds you.”_

It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what that meant. A group of assassins won’t be found by somebody just looking hard. If they didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t. And, not surprisingly, not many people went around looking for them.

But how exactly does one get a group of assassins to come to _them_? She could try pissing someone off enough to hire them to have her killed, but she doubted the notorious assassin’s guild would stop to hear what she had to say. She could try contacting them herself, but that apparently involved a type of religious summoning. Severia wasn’t completely adverse to that idea, but one only summoned the Brotherhood when they wanted someone dead. If she didn’t want someone dead and she did their little sacrament, she was sure they wouldn’t appreciate it and would suspect her of having ulterior motives. Also not good.

So if you aren’t a victim or a client, you must be an asset.

If they were to recruit her on their own, that would put her in a much more trustworthy position. She’d probably get more honest answers to the outlandish questions she had to ask.

But did she really want to join up with a group of religious murderers? Not particularly. Did she have a problem with killing someone for money? Again, not really. She hadn’t dabbled much in the past, but that was mainly because starting a business like that on one’s own tends to leave you vulnerable. With a notorious group of talented murderers at your back and a terrifying legacy to boot, there’s not a lot that can come after you.

But it didn’t go unnoticed to her that the Brotherhood was dying out. Their sanctuaries were being rooted out one by one, albeit slowly, and Severia didn’t want any part in that.

But their presence in Skyrim was strong, and from her month of digging for information on them, nobody knew much about them. Some still only believed them to be a bedtime story to tell naughty children so that they behave.

A sharp gust of wind pulled the young woman out of her reverie, causing her to pull her gray hood back up again to shield her face.

So she needed to kill someone. Make a statement, but not get caught. There was no way around it.

Severia thought she should’ve been more disturbed by that. She shrugged and pulled her cloak tighter, turning to walk through the back alleys of the town.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t killed before.

  


*

  


Severia had decided on her first target rather quickly.

The bitchy old woman who ran the Riften orphanage was as mean as they came, and nobody would miss her. This was a target she was sure somebody would pay to have killed.

And if she made it _look_ like the Brotherhood, then it would no doubt _attract_ the Brotherhood.

She’d heard rumors of the awful woman and how she abused the children left in her care. The young woman who worked for the hag, Constance, was too scared to speak up. _Grelod the Kind_ , they called her ironically. People in Tamriel sure loved their clever sobriquets.

She’d waited until after dark to enter the establishment, only mildly surprised to see the young woman who worked for Grelod sitting near the front door. The young woman, roughly Severia’s age and slightly taller, quickly walked up and tried to shoo her out.

“The children aren’t up for adoption. Please, Grelod will be furious if she sees you here.”

Well this wasn’t going exactly as planned. Not only did she regularly torture the children, but she kept them here instead of giving them the chance to find loving families? Evil woman. She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so disgusted. Severia wasn’t the epitome of “law-abiding citizen”, but she didn’t care much for people who hurt children unnecessarily.

Severia kept her feet firmly planted where she stood, a fake smile lacing her lips. “I’ll only be here for a minute. Are you the only one awake right now?”

Constance nodded quickly, obviously trained to answer any and all demands without fail. That was good.

Severia gasped at something imaginary behind the young worker, and when Constance whipped her head around to start her apologies to the old matron that wasn’t there, the shorter brunette pulled her dagger and hit the base of her skull with the hilt. Severia quickly caught the other woman, and looked up to find a small, empty bedroom with the door wide open. She counted her steps as she walked towards the room, dropped the girl gently on the floor, and closed the door. It wouldn’t be good if someone walked in just to find a girl knocked out on the ground while she was… preoccupied. After closing the door, she peered into the large room to her left filled with shoddy beds and tiny children sleeping in them.

She smiled quietly to herself, knowing that when they woke next their lives would be much more interesting.

She admittedly had a soft spot for orphans. She knew what it was like to be hated by her family and cast out. Granted, she had her sister with her. But as far as their father was concerned, the cursed Siren was now an orphan.

Severia locked her eyes on the only other door in the small building. Another bedroom, she assumed, right next to the one that kept her knocked out victim. She tested the doorknob, found it was unlocked, and let herself in.

The old woman was fast asleep, a serene smile gracing her wrinkled face.

The brunette couldn’t help but grin to herself as she felt the blood begin to pump harder through her veins. There were multiple people in this building, fast asleep and unaware. And here she was, ready to slaughter the poor woman in her own home.

Severia drew her blade and stepped up to the bed. She stared down at the hag for just a few more painfully long seconds before gripping her victim’s face over their mouth and sliding the dagger roughly across her throat.

Grelod’s eyes shot open in fear, but they started glazing over almost immediately. A muffled gurgle erupted from the old woman’s throat, and then there was silence. Severia watched with intensity as the thick globules of blood poured out from the wound splitting her victim’s skin. She couldn’t see through the pools of the thick syrupy fluid, but she was sure she’d split the bitch’s windpipe nearly in half.

Severia let out a breathe she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her whole body tingled with adrenaline, and her self inflicted asphyxiation left her light headed and woozy. She slowly removed her hand from the hag’s slack jaw, using the edge of the bed’s quilt to wipe the blood from her blade and hands.

It was done.

It was the first time she’d killed since the well had given her life.

And _damn_ , was it better than sex had been.

  


*

  


Severia hadn’t lingered in Riften. She’d left the night she killed old Grelod the Kind, running into the shadows of the town, dark and unseen like a plague on the wind. Her adrenaline took her halfway to Ivarstead before she slowed to a walk.

She laughed. A grin split her face to reveal two rows of white teeth, and bated breath became visible vapor in the air.

She felt so _alive_.

And she did the first thing her body felt like doing.

She sang.

She burst into her song, feeling every word and praying that her Enigma could feel it from wherever it was. She screamed out into the nighttime wind, not caring if anyone heard her. When her song reached its peak, she ran her fingers through her curly hair, not caring that there was probably still blood on them. As her song ended, she dropped to her knees in the middle of the old country road.

Why hadn’t she done that _sooner_?

Gods, how her sister would _hate_ her.

Footsteps through the grass made her lift her head and look to her left. There stood two men, obviously bandits, and they were slowly approaching with swords raised. They were whispering among themselves about how lucky they were to stumble across a beautiful woman all alone, crazy as she might be.

Oh, lucky indeed.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all the way out here?” The first man said. They walked shoulder to shoulder, attempting to make themselves look more threatening than they were.

Severia didn’t move until they were right up on her. As one of them blinked, she pulled the still-stained dagger from her sleeve, letting the weapon slide across two throats in one speedy swipe.

The force of her blinding stroke stopped the men in their tracks, and hot, sticky blood showered over her, staining her from head to toe. They fell, lifeless, to the ground below her. She stood over the bodies, the cold bite of the wind feeling wonderful against her wet and heated face. She dropped the dagger to the ground, looking down at the life essence coating her bare hands. She could feel the hot liquid quickly cooling on her skin. She was shaking and she was breathless.

And she was in the middle of a public road.

Severia rapidly whipped her head around, taking in the empty space of the night around her. Her senses were on high alert, and after a few moments of silence, she decided that she was safe for now.

She let out a rattling breath, stooping slowly to pick up her dagger.

Well that was fucking sloppy.

As a thief, Severia never let herself get this caught up. The thrill of stealing was nothing compared to this, and she was scared. For the first time, Severia realized with a huff, she was _scared_ of something.

The adrenaline rush that came along with killing was tenfold the rush he got from stealing. She was unprepared. She’d been so caught off guard, that she hadn’t been able to control herself.

Severia shook away those thoughts temporarily as she started walking to the river’s edge, which was thankfully close by. As much as she wanted to just completely submerge herself in the cool water, it was the middle of the night.

In the middle of winter.

She removed her heavy cloak, leaving herself in only a pair of leather pants, fur boots, and a long sleeved white shirt that pinched at the wrists. Her clothes under her cloak had survived most of the damage, but there were small spots where the blood had gotten itself on her white blouse.

 _Sloppy_.

She washed her cloak as best she could in the river, knowing that if it had been daytime she’d see the blood flow freely down the stream. After her cloak, she splashed her face and hands with cold water, the residual adrenaline keeping the young imperial from freezing to death.

Three hours and she’d killed three people.

The first was fine. That was planned. Executed with all the stealth and precision she had gained from her years of thievery. But the last two had been unplanned.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She had been singing in the night, and that song had attracted those two men here.

Her song had lured them to their deaths.

Maybe there was a little bit of truth to those childhood nicknames.

Granted, they were just your everyday bandits. Thankfully nobody would think much about their deaths. They had approached her first with weapons drawn, and she had only defended herself. Severia shook her head, knowing that was bullshit. The Severia she’d been yesterday would’ve run. She definitely could’ve gotten away. She could’ve outrun them easily, and if that didn’t work, she could’ve lost them in the shadows of the night.

No. She was _lucky_ they were bandits.

She was sure that if anyone else had approached her in that moment, she would’ve slit their throats as well.

She had to get this shit under control before the Brotherhood came for her. Who knew what kind of temptations she’d face surrounded by murderers just like her.

  


*

  


Two days later and Severia was in Ivarstead with a clearer mind and a new set of clothes. Her brown leather pants had been salvageable, but her new fur boots and white blouse had been a little more blood-stained than the average Skyrim citizen’s clothes. Her favorite gray cloak was completely unusable, and so she had reluctantly tossed it long before entering the small village. She knew that the cloak most likely made her look suspicious, but less-so because it was winter. She’d replaced her heavy fur boots with a pair of lighter, black leather ones, and her white blouse was replaced with a newer, thicker model. For added warmth, she decided on a thick brown leather vest with a black wool hood attached to it.

With her large purchase, the girl working the front desk of the shop had thrown in a pair of black leather gloves that clung to her hands and wrists like a second skin. Severia flexed her hands a few times before thanking the girl with a sincerity that surprised herself.

She stopped by the local woodcutter’s shop with the intention of only window-shopping, but a beautiful handcrafted dagger caught her eye. Though the place sold mostly wooden products, it seemed they picked up the stray non-bow weapon here and there.

The dagger was made from one solid piece of black steel, and it was thinner and slightly longer that the one she currently carried. The black leather strips that hugged the hilt were knotted professionally to avoid fraying. The faint glow that danced on the edge of the blade suggested that it was enchanted. The poor woodcutter most likely had no idea.

Severia had bought the new weapon for a mere 50 septims, which she was glad for. If the man decided her offer was too low, she was just going to come back later to steal it.

She tucked her new blade into her right boot, deciding to keep it as a backup. Her everyday steel dagger drew less attention than her new enchanted beauty. She had to remember to find a mage to identify the enchantment later.

The Vilemyr Inn hostess had been kind enough to draw her a bath the night before, so Severia was feeling immensely refreshed and clear-headed. Her thick brown curls were cleaned and tamed, and after brushing them out she realized that they had grown an inch or two longer since she had last inspected it. She pulled it back into a loose braid, only a few hairs straying from the leather strip that bound it all together.

Severia sat on the river’s edge alone now, listening to the rushing water. She sat there humming softly to herself, enjoying the moment of peace. She didn’t often enjoy mornings, but today felt new. _She_ felt new.

The last few days had changed so much. She realized that she had passion in her blood, and if left unattended, that passion could be the death of her. She had killed before, but it hadn't given her the rush it did this time around. She should’ve seen this coming, honestly, because the way she felt about a lot of things changed after her Enigma in Cheydinhal opened her up. Most of the time, Severia couldn’t predict her own reactions to new situations.

She had to be more careful. No more getting lost in the thrill. If she wanted this to continue, she had to remain calm and collected at all times, especially during her fits of newfound passion. She didn’t have her Enigma around to keep her emotions in line, so she had to avoid risky situations like that until it was found.

But the deed was now done. There were no witnesses, but Severia had left a hell of a mess.

How long did she have to wait before the Dark Brotherhood took notice of her? If they didn’t contact her soon, should she kill again? How long did it take for information to reach the notorious assassin’s guild?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a courier approached her, waving a letter in front of her face. His fake workplace grin made here wary of him, and she didn’t take the outstretched letter.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, unnerved by her glare. “Uh, I have a message. Your eyes only.”

Severia looked at the man in disbelief. No one in this god-forsaken country knew who she was. Or where to find her for that matter. “Not mine.”

“Well, I was told to give it to you. Didn’t say who it was from, but they said it was urgent. Even paid a little extra to get it here quickly.” His hand stayed in it’s place in front of her face.

“Tch,” She snatched the offending letter out of her face. “Don’t come asking for it back when you realize you delivered to the wrong person.”

He didn’t respond, and instead turned on his heels to walk as far away from the intimidating imperial lady as he could.

Severia looked down at the folded parchment, turning it over in her hands looking for the name of who it’d been addressed to. Upon finding nothing, she curiously peeled the plain, red wax sealant off the paper.

Inside was the black hand print that consumed her thoughts, and two simple words.

_“We know.”_


	5. Chapter Four

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Four_

  


After failing at tracking the courier down, Severia set back up on the edge of the water.

The Dark Brotherhood knew.

Not only had they heard of Grelod the Kind’s murder, but they managed to figure out it was her, track her down, and send her an anonymous letter with no ties all in the span of two days.

Damn, these people were good.

Severia tried to relax the tension in her shoulders, but the fact that she was most likely being watched set her on edge. Despite that this was her goal all along, it didn’t make the imperial any more comfortable with unseen eyes on her. She spent the better half of an hour soaking in her surroundings, wondering who could be watching her and from where.

Severia didn’t _feel_ like she was being watched.

And that alone sent an icy chill down her spine.

She got to her feet, standing as tall as a woman barely over five feet could. Sitting here any longer wasn’t going to tell her anything.

If the Brotherhood wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have given her a warning that they were coming. She was safe for the moment. But that didn’t do much to reduce the tension in her muscles.

After seeing that none of the locals were around, and there weren’t any guards patrolling the bridge to her left, Severia made her way south. Satisfied that no one saw her leave, she quickened her pace and headed deeper into the wooded area, choosing not to linger by the road.

When the sight of a cave in the distance reached her vision, Severia felt a sting in her neck, and everything went black.

  


*

  


The young brunette awoke to the sound of moans, and under closer inspection, was very thankful that they weren’t her own.

It was dark, _very_ dark, and she could feel the presence of at least two people very close to her.

In a moment she was on high alert, grasping at her belt and surprised to find that her dagger still lingered there, untouched. She did her best to ignore the groggy feeling in her head at the motion. She’d been paralyzed, and some of it still lingered in her bloodstream, she was sure.

“There was no point in taking that from you,” a sultry, feminine voice in the dark startled her. “You’ll be needing it shortly.”

Severia didn’t respond immediately. She strained her eyes to see as much in the near pitch-blackness as she could. Only when she managed to make out the vague frame of a person sitting a few feet away from her did she speak. “Who are you?”

When the woman hidden in the darkness laughed, the bell-like sound echoed off the walls of their current hideaway. The space was large, and sounded as if it had stone walls. Was that a drip of water?

“Don’t play coy, Siren. You know exactly who we are.”

Severia tensed at the nickname. Shit, how much did this bitch know?

“You’re the one who’s been looking for us, after all. And I simply want to know why.”

In a flash, the large space was lit with the small blue flame of magelight. Severia squinted her eyes, not wanting to be completely blind in the face of a stranger. Her eyes adjusted quickly, taking in the black and red form of a female assassin bathed in blue light.

She was covered from head to toe in slick leather armor that hugged every indent in her body. All Severia could see of her were the piercing blue eyes that looked on with a mixture of trepidation and honest curiosity.

Her peripherals answered the question of _where_ they were – a cave. Most likely the cave she saw right before passing out. So they were still very close to Ivarstead. And that moaning…

Severia didn’t risk glancing behind her, but she knew there was someone there. And by the sounds they were making, it didn’t seem likely they were a member of the murderous cult.

Seeing that her host was still waiting on an answer, Severia let out a tense, “It’s complicated.”

“I have time.”

The brunette hesitated, wondering how far the truth would get her. If this woman didn’t know about the thing she felt in Cheydinhal, she’d be labeled as a psycho and most likely killed. If she tried to lie and say she simply wanted to join, Severia was sure she’d see right through it. From what she’d seen so far, this assassin didn’t play games. Lying would get her killed as well.

“I’ve traveled here from Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil. I stumbled upon the old sanctuary there and I was intrigued. I heard the Brotherhood was still active in Skyrim, so I came to see for myself.” Seeing that the woman was waiting for Severia to elaborate, she reluctantly continued. Trying to omit pieces of the truth wouldn’t get her far. “I felt something in the old sanctuary that I need in my life. I don’t know what it was. But whatever it was is gone now. I came here to find it.”

The assassin pondered over Severia’s words, weighing the validity of it. It only took a moment before she had her reply. “You’ve killed. And from what I can tell, you like it.”

The imperial swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“Were you always like this?”

How was it that this woman knew exactly what to ask? Severia felt uncomfortable under the assassin’s stare, feeling more naked than she had on her name day. “The killing isn’t new. Enjoying it is.”

The slight wrinkle by the other woman’s eyes was the only thing to give away her smile. “My, my. And when did you start enjoying it?”

“Roughly… two days ago.”

The other woman threw her head back and laughed, effectively taking her eyes off of Severia. The younger woman had to fight the urge to act on the display of weakness. After the laughter died down, The assassin struggled to regain her composure before speaking.

“I’ll be honest with you, child. I have no clue what this feeling in Cheydinhal is you’re talking about. From what I can tell, you’re just fucking loony, but no threat to me or my brothers.”

Okay. Well that stung her pride a little. Severia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from countering the insult with one of her own.

“But,” the assassin’s blue eyes twinkled, “you’re a killer. And a fine one at that. And from what I’ve seen, you want into our little family.”

Family? Just how literally was the Dark Brotherhood taken?

Severia swallowed before speaking. “Initially, I just wanted to know what it was I felt down that well in Cheydinhal, but...”

“Don’t tell me, child. Show me.” the assassin gracefully lifted a hand to point over Severia’s shoulder. The brunette turned around slowly, eyes finally falling on the presence she had felt before.

There lying on the chilled dirt floor of the cave was a middle-aged nord man with his hands tied behind his back. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, eyes never focusing on one thing for too long. His long brown hair was matted and dirty, suggesting he either put up a fight or had been dragged here.

This was it. She was being tested.

Severia rose to her feet, pulled her blade from her belt, and stepped up to the man. She grabbed his face with one of her gloved hands, pulling his chin around to face her. Only when his eyes fell to her own did she shove the dagger straight into his chest. It only took four agonizingly slow seconds for the light to fade from his eyes.

As she withdrew her blade, she exhaled slowly, reigning in the adrenaline that threatened to take over her body. She wouldn’t lose her control. Especially not here. Only after wiping her blade on the linen of the nord’s pants did Severia stand again and face the assassin.

The woman had pulled the mask covering the lower half of her face away, revealing a pair of pale, but full lips pulled back into an ear-splitting grin. Maybe Severia really did belong with people like this.

“Welcome to the family.”

  


*

  


The woman, Astrid, had left immediately after giving Severia the information needed to find the active Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. She disappeared as quickly and suddenly as she came, melding into the winter night.

As soon as she nord woman left, Severia let out a rattled sigh.

That didn’t go exactly how she wanted it to, but everything seem to work out alright regardless. The fact that she was still alive testified to that.

She was now a member of the notorious Dark Brotherhood.

If only Vaudina had seen the number of unspeakable activities Severia had taken part in the last week. She could even imagine the self-righteous speech she’d get for it, too.

_“_ _What were you thinking, Severia? Sleeping with a stranger?”_

hypocrite.

_“Killing an old, helpless woman in her sleep?”_

Granted, she had it coming.

_“Joining a murderous cult? Stealing was bad enough!”_

Hey, that stolen money kept weird men out of your bed.

Severia sighed, the imaginary verbal lashing leaving her more drained than she had been already. As much as she wanted to just fall asleep right in this cave, the bloody corpse a few feet away wasn’t exactly the best company. Plus, she couldn’t chance a local walking into the cave and seeing the victim along with the culprit.

The brunette left the cave, finding comfort in the lack of moonlight tonight. She wondered idly if Astrid had taken that into her planning as well.

Falkreath was west, and a good three days of travel on foot. Most likely four since she would cut through the snowy mountains south of High Hrothgar.

Severia returned to the road leading through the mountains and started walking. The quicker she got there, the better.

After walking through the night and next morning, Severia stumbled across an old wooden shack in the forest right before the foot of the mountains. She had grabbed her dagger and slowly approached, but found that it was empty. Someone had been there recently, for there was fresh food and alchemy supplies crowding the small building. She quickly took what she needed and left. After deciding she was a safe distance from the old shack, she wedged herself into a small enclave in the base of the huge mountain. She ate and rested until night fell before continuing her journey.

The fact that she wasn’t guaranteed the answer of her Enigma wasn’t lost on Severia. Part of her wondered why she was even going through with this underworld initiation and the risks involved without getting anything in return.

But was that really true…? Surely there was more than just Astrid in the Dark Brotherhood. Someone had to know something to give her a clue. And even if her Enigma wasn’t there, that didn’t mean she couldn’t still search for it after exhausting her Brotherhood resources. Thieves and murderers were the best sources of information, so sticking around would be more beneficial than not.

And killing in the meantime didn’t seem like an _awful_ idea. It was risky, exposing herself to such a high-adrenaline activity without her Enigma to keep her in check, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. Enjoying things was nice. And she was only able to do so because of her Enigma. The money to be made in assassination was appealing as well. Severia had always had a weak spot for gold.

The extra protection of a notorious assassin’s organization at her back was also a plus in an unknown country.

After three days of fighting off blizzards, frost trolls, and sneaking around a Stormcloak base, Severia found herself in Falkreath. She was tired and out of food again, but she pushed through to the sanctuary instead of stopping in the town. The people were frazzled and talking of dragons and some chosen hero, and Severia didn’t want to be bothered with the drama. The citizens were on edge, and that put her on edge.

She knew she’d found it when she saw the familiar door. It was the same black door with the eerie red glow, and she placed her palm on the surprisingly warm stone. The black hand print felt comfortable under her own, and she tried not to shiver when the door spoke to her.

_“What…_ _is the music… of life?”_

“Silence, my brother.”

_“Welcome…_ _home.”_

The door made a shifting sound before giving way to the pressure of her hand. Severia stepped through the threshold, nervous about what lay ahead of her.

Astrid was waiting for her at the base of the steps, the black cowl completely removed from her head. The nord woman had to be at least ten years older than herself, but she was beautiful. She had high cheekbones and full, blonde hair that brushed her shoulders. Not to mention the piercing blue eyes that were sure to leave most men weak in the knees. If Severia had met her on the street, she wouldn’t have thought her to be an assassin.

But she was sure that was what made Astrid so lethal.

“Ah, at last.” Astrid turned to look at the new arrival. “I hope you found the place alright.”

Severia nodded, not surprised that the other woman had beat her here. And by the looks of her clean hair and well rested demeanor, it had been by a long shot. “What do I do now?”

Astrid smiled. “You start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood. This is your home now. Your family.” Family. There was that word again. Something about the way Astrid said it made Severia’s stomach churn. “You won’t find a safer place in all of Skyrim, I assure you. So get comfortable.”

_Nobody can find you here, whether you want them to or not._

“Thank you, Astrid.” the imperial said, hoping she sounded grateful.

If the nord realized Severia was struggling to speak, she didn’t let on that she did. “So what should I call you, Siren? From what I hear, you’re not giving away your real name in Skyrim.”

Severia tried not to be surprised by that. If her gut feeling with Brynjolf had been correct, then the Thieves guild had ties with the Dark Brotherhood. Astrid had said just enough to let on that she knew something, but not enough to gauge the extent of it. No one had called her “Siren” since she’d been in Cyrodiil. No one in Skyrim should know about that. But if she knew her alias, then she most likely knew her real name. But how much more did she know? She didn’t necessarily want to go by her real name as much as she hated the moniker, as it could easily be traced back to the noble family she left behind in Cyrodiil. And her cursed history with the family. Damn the imperials and they’re awfully eccentric naming.

“Well, if you don’t want to tell me your name, Siren it is.” Severia groaned internally, wondering now if she really knew as much as she led on. “Go and get some rest. The initiates share a bedroom through the lobby and up the stairs. Go talk to Nazir once you feel like you’re ready for work.” Astrid turned to walk away, but stopped. She glanced over her shoulder to lock eyes with her new initiate. “I left some armor for you on your new bed. If anything doesn’t fit properly, talk to Arnbjorn.” And with that, the woman disappeared down the stairs.

Severia waited a moment before following. She took in the space of what could be considered the lobby of the sanctuary, surprised to see a small waterfall off to the side of the large room. A makeshift smithy had been set up to her left, but there was no sign of the blacksmith who ran it. She walked up the stone stairs to her left, which led into an impressive alchemy lab. There was an old bald man turned away from her fumbling with something on the enchanting table, and there was a small child seated across the room. The little girl was watching something, and when Severia followed her gaze, it landed on a frostbite spider.

She guessed she shouldn’t have assumed the Brotherhood to have conventional pets.

The little girl glanced over at Severia, bright golden eyes meeting brown. The child gave the new initiate a toothy grin, flashing an impressive pair of fangs.

That’s new.

Severia gave a forced smile back before slinking into the doorway to her right, not feeling particularly chatty. It led into a large kitchen with a long family-style dining table. Just how big was this place?

“Ah, sister.” A deep male voice from her left pulled her out of her observation. A redguard man, almost a foot taller than her, was standing by the cooking fire. So much for not being chatty. “Come, sit.” He gestured a hand to one of the table chairs. She almost ignored him and continued walking, but being so blatantly rude to a “brother” probably wouldn’t fly well on her first day. She walked over to the table and sat as instructed. In moments, the redguard placed a wooden bowl filled to the brim with some type of beef stew. By the smell of it, it was spiced deliciously. “Eat.” was all he said.

She didn’t need to be told again, and as elegantly as she could muster, Severia scarfed down the scalding hot meal in minutes. A soft piece of bread on the edge of her bowl made for an excellent sponge to soak up the liquid remnants, and it tasted divine. The exotic spice was one of the few things that she missed form her days living in the Imperial City. The redguard blood she carried from her mother’s side was grateful for the burning of pepper on her tongue.

The redguard man remained silent for the duration of her meal, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t used to living in close quarters with so many people at once, and the idea of “family” was lost on her. She didn’t care much for her blood family, so she didn’t expect much out of a group of strangers. Only when she chased her meal with a full cup of water did the redguard speak again.

“Name’s Nazir, by the way. I’m sure you’re tired. Astrid left a set of armor on one of the beds upstairs. That one’s yours.” He picked up the empty dishes and strode over to a water bucket to drop them in. “Get some rest. Come see me for work whenever you’re ready.”

Severia nodded and slipped away, wondering idly if everyone in this sanctuary was as minimalist in their way of speaking as Nazir had been. She secretly hoped so.

  


*

  


After a full night’s rest, a bath, and donning her new armor, Severia felt revived. She had curiously awoken to a fluffy pastry on her nightstand, and she had eaten it with little hesitation. The Dark Brotherhood was a lot more Brotherhood-y and lot less Dark than she had initially been led to believe. It was weird, and almost felt like living with Vaudina again. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing per se, just unexpected.

She’d spent the morning getting to know her new “siblings”.

Though her armor fit perfectly (Astrid had no doubt measured her while she was knocked out), she took it upon herself to thank the resident blacksmith for the new set. He had merely grumbled and threatened her, proclaiming that if she ever did anything detrimental to the sanctuary, he’d eat her. The nord was territorial, and she was shocked to find he was married to Astrid. Calm and collected Astrid married to the big and base werewolf? Nine have mercy on her.

Gabriella was sweet for a murderer, and gave off an air that reminded her much of Vaudina.

Well, if Vaudina had been a less do-goody, more mischievous dunmer assassin. That could shoot fire from her hands. But Gabriella liked to talk, and that was enough to put Severia off after a minute of being in the girl’s presence.

Festus Krex was the worst of them, but the most informative. He could ramble on and on with the best of them. He spoke much of the Old Ways, and how the Dark Brotherhood isn’t what it used to be. He spoke of Sithis and the Night Mother, and how the five tenets came into play.

“Things aren’t being run the Dark Brotherhood way anymore,” he’d said. “But we’re still here. That’s gotta count for something.”

Veezara had a voice that was smooth for an argonian, and Severia could see herself growing rather fond of the man. He’d been trained all his life to kill, and he was loyal to Astrid in a way that impressed her. He didn’t talk as much as the others, but he was polite and respectful, and only opened his mouth when he had something thought-provoking to say.

Nazir was a little standoffish, but Severia could tell he did that to her on purpose. In his eyes, she hadn’t proved herself as an asset yet, but he still took it upon himself to make sure she was well and fed. If Astrid was the mother of the group, then Nazir was the father. His favor didn’t come easily, and she silently promised herself that she’d earn it.

Not because she needed to prove herself to him, oh no. It was simply another challenge to keeps things interesting during her time here.

Babette came out not long after sunset. The three-hundred year old vampire was talkative and slightly pompous, but when combined with her appearance, it only served to amuse Severia. She made a point never to let the old vampire in on her amusement, lest she be… reprimanded.

By the time night fell, Severia walked into the alchemy lab to speak with Festus. Since the moment she walked into this sanctuary, she’d been on the lookout for whatever it was she lost in Cheydinhal. It wasn’t here, and the disappointment was maddening.

Had she really done all of this for nothing?

Granted, living within the Dark Brotherhood was definitely her best chance at finding it. She had somewhat planned for this, however disappointing it ended up really being.

The young imperial sat herself at the wooden table in the middle of the lab. She waited a few minutes before Festus turned and acknowledged her.

“What is it, girl? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He started grinding something in a mortar, but Severia didn’t pay it any mind.

“I have something I wish to ask you about. Something of a more… sensitive nature.”

Festus merely groaned. “I already told Gabriella I couldn’t make a potion to help with menstrual pain. Sending you to ask won’t change anything.”

Severia blinked. “No,” she fought back the smile threatening to show itself. “It’s nothing like that.”

Festus merely grunted and continued his work, turning back to the alchemy table with his newly ground powder. When she realized he wasn’t going to ask her what it was, she spoke again.

“I came here from Cheydinhal,” she started. “I found the abandoned sanctuary there. I was wondering if there was any difference between the two?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. “One is in Cyrodiil and the other is in Skyrim.”

Severia could feel her eye begin to twitch, and she fought to reign in her irritation.

“Yes, I realize that.” she gripped the edge of the table with a gloved hand. “I’m asking about any significant differences. Supernatural, even.”

Festus Krex stopped fiddling with his supplies and whipped his head around to look at Severia with a raised brow. “The whole Dark Brotherhood is _supernatural_.” he said, turning his whole body to face her now. “We kill for the Night Mother because it is her will. We send the souls of our victims to the Dread Father, Sithis.”

Severia couldn’t help the aggravated sigh that escaped her. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. She didn’t necessarily feel like going around and telling everyone she felt an otherworldly presence at the bottom of a stinking well and being labeled the family crazy. The family crazy of the Dark Brotherhood is not a title she wished to have.

“The Cheydinhal sanctuary has been empty for years. Rumor has it that’s where the Keeper and the Night Mother have been hiding out before they decided to head here. But that crazy fool talks in riddles so no one really knows. He could’ve been anywhere in that gods-forsaken country for all we know.”

Wait.

_Wait, wait, wait._

That was something.

Severia quickly stood to her feet, hands still locked on the edge of the table.

“The Night Mother is coming… _here_?”

_The old crone isn’t an invisible person in the sky like the rest of Tamriel’s gods?_

“Yes, as far as we know. Things are bound to get more interesting when she shows.” The way Festus said that made Severia wonder if that was a good or a bad thing. “The Keeper is on his way with her as we speak.”

That… was the best news she’d had since her search began. If this Night Mother was truly in the old sanctuary while Severia was in the city, then she _must_ know what it was she felt back then.

Severia was antsy now, and her hands caressed the hilt of her blade lovingly. She left with her thanks to find Nazir.

She was eager for the Night Mother to arrive. And she was eager to spill some blood to pass the time.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. Severia and Cicero are meeting finally!  
> (Told y'all this was gonna be a slow burn.. lol)

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Five_

  


The next few weeks felt like months as Severia waited for the arrival of the Night Mother and her Keeper. She filled the time with basic contracts, but the jobs weren’t challenging enough to really keep her mind occupied. She’d managed to keep her fluctuating emotions in check for the most part, and used all the willpower she could muster to not lose herself in her kills. She enjoyed them, yes, but she also had to keep her mind relatively far away during the act to keep herself sharp.

When she wasn’t killing people for money, she lingered at the sanctuary and spoke with her new siblings. Severia had wanted more information about the Night Mother, but alas, Festus Krex had been sent away on assignment the day after their little chat, and he had yet to return.

At first, she’d avoided making contact with the other inhabitants of the Falkreath sanctuary. However, most of the group proved to be decent company. Nazir was warming up to her, and even threw the playful jab at her here and there. Veezara provided her with mature and enlightening conversation, and they’d delved into the philosophy of murder and morality on more than one occasion. It had always left Severia feeling rather calm and sure about what she did, and it did help her sleep better at night. Not that she had much trouble to begin with. Babette often joined in on the conversations with her own views, which were surprisingly laid back and carefree for a 300-year-old vampire.

“We all die eventually, so what’s the harm in helping someone get there a little sooner?” she’d said. Severia had accepted the stance without much resistance, choosing instead to adopt it as her own.

The only thing that peeved her about her new family was that they all took to calling her by the unappealing moniker “Siren”. Astrid must have told everyone that was her name, and Severia wasn’t going to deny it either. She was sure the Brotherhood leader had figured out her real name by now, but made no move to correct anyone. Severia was reluctantly grateful for that. It wasn’t like she had provided an alias on her own.

At the dinner table one night, it was Babette who asked about it first. “So, _Siren_ ,” she’d started, drawling the name out as if tasting the word in her mouth. “Do you sing, or was your mommy just very fond of mythology?”

Severia had merely shrugged, opting to take a swig from her bottle of foul-tasting mead. She couldn’t understand how nords drank the stuff, but hell, it might help her get through this awful questioning.

“Your voice is terribly pretty and smooth. I bet you’re a wonderful singer.” Babette grinned her toothy grin, golden eyes glimmering mischievously.

Nazir walked over to the table, plopping another portion of the roasted meat they’d been having for dinner on a serving platter. “No, no singing.” he’d groaned, making a face. “I hate singing.”

Gabriella giggled into her water cup while Veezara watched the exchange in obvious interest. Astrid, Arnbjorn, and Festus Krex thankfully weren’t present for this exchange, because she was sure the older woman would give something away. And Severia didn’t know how much she knew.

“I doubt our Siren would sing something fast-paced and annoying, which is surely what you’re imagining,” Veezara said to Nazir. With a glance and a smirk shot over to Severia, he’d continued. “Our broody imperial here would most likely sing some kind of dramatic ballad.”

Severia choked on her drink. “ _Broody_?”

Veezara and Nazir laughed, while Babette and Gabriella made no move to hide their own giggles.

“You are pretty broody, sister.” the dunmer agreed. Severia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, and she made a move to excuse herself from the table. Gabriella grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her back down to her seat. “Oh, don’t get your underclothes in a twist, sister. We’re only having fun with you.”

 _Yeah, that’s what’s weird._ Severia huffed and went back to stuffing her face so she wouldn’t be expected to speak. She sometimes wished they were all just stone-cold killers who kept to themselves. Unfortunately, they were all rather fond of sitting around the dinner table and chatting. _Family_ style.

The Dark Brotherhood wasn’t at all what Severia had expected it to be. These people were terrifyingly _normal_ for the most part. It was weird that such a strange variety of people gathered together like this, but it was weirder how close they all were. And she was being brought into it all with open arms.

Family. Yeah, she guessed that was right. She didn’t love them like family – never could, especially this soon – but she could eventually grow fond of them. Fond the way she was of Vaudina.

The family dinner had been interrupted when the sound of the black door slammed shut.

A few moments later and Astrid was storming into the room, grumbling about something under her breath. “Veezara,” she snapped. The argonian was at his leader’s side in a flash.

“Yes, Astrid.”

“Go and help the Keeper load the Night Mother in. I can’t stand another minute of his mad rambling.” Veezara didn’t need to be told any more, so he immediately rushed out the door to complete his assigned task. Severia locked eyes with Gabriella, the dunmer’s face reflecting her own confusion, but lacking the nervous excitement she was sure was plastered on her face.

The Night Mother was finally here.

But… what did they mean about “loading her in”? If this Night Mother was the Matron of old, then it was entirely possible that she was crippled.

Severia fought her own urge to shoot up and go greet them herself.

Astrid plopped down next to Severia, a gloved hand immediately grabbing the younger woman’s bottle of mead and taking a huge swig. After downing half the bottle in one go, Astrid plopped it back down in the same spot Severia had left it initially. All of the other members didn’t dare say anything.

Severia swallowed the lump in her throat before asking, “That bad?”

With a groan, Astrid grabbed the same mead bottle and removed herself from the table. Before bringing it to her lips and walking out, she’d snapped “Go and see for yourself.”

Well. Since it was an order.

Severia grabbed her dirty plates and left them in the wooden bucket they used for cleaning. She skipped up the stairs two at a time, choosing to lay eyes on the new pair before having to actually speak to them. Gabriella called after her, but she ignored the other girl and kept her pace.

After a small trek through the few connected bedrooms, Severia settled herself at the top of a narrow staircase leading down into the lobby. The grating sound of high-pitched laughter scraped the inside of her skull, and she fought back the urge to go and strangle whatever was making the awful noise.

When she saw him round the corner, she wondered for a moment if Severia’s eyes were playing tricks on her.

There, twirling on his tip-toes in the middle of the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, was a jester.

He was likely a few inches taller than her, and the velvet motley that hung from his frame was too big for his short stature. It was old and patched, but otherwise very well kept. The curled toes of his boots made Severia gag, and the two points of his hat twirled along with the rest of him. He was moving too quickly for her to get a good look at his face, but there was no missing the shoulder-length red hair that whipped around him with the tails of his hat.

There wasn’t a surprising number of redheads in Skyrim, but somehow she’d managed to become somewhat involved with them all, she noticed. Not that she was complaining. Redheads were typically easy on the eyes.

Severia hadn’t seen a jester since her noble days in the Imperial City, and even then they were far and in between. This man, if she could even call him that, danced to an inaudible tune and he giggled happily as Veezara and Arnbjorn lugged in a large wooden crate.

“Are you gonna help us or not, clown?” Arnbjorn growled, obviously not happy about being put to work by the odd little man. Veezara stayed silent, focusing on not losing his grip on the heavy box.

As if realizing they were there for the first time, the jester stopped his dance, and the permanent grin that pulled at his face grew even wider.

“Why, humble Cicero thought the nice doggy would never ask!” Severia gasped, waiting for the inevitable smack across his head to come from the sanctuary’s lone werewolf. Instead, Arnbjorn had simply waited for the jester to grab onto the crate before letting go and walking away with a grunt. Veezara sent the closest thing he could get to a glare towards Arnbjorn, not wanting to be left alone with the clown.

After setting the crate down by the waterfall, Veezara took a few steps back to stand behind Astrid. She’d walked in moments ago followed by Nazir, Gabriella, and Babette. The jester took his time looking over the sides of the large crate, as if checking for any scratches. Astrid stood for a moment, and after realizing that the weird little man wasn’t going to acknowledge her, she loudly cleared her throat.

The jester whipped his head around to face the irritated nord woman, oblivious to her rising irritation. Astrid spoke with thinning patience, but a practiced professionalism.

“You and the Night Mother are welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper.”

Before she could continue speaking, Cicero hopped up and down energetically, clapping his hands together like a child on his nameday. “Oh yes, yes, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Astrid clenched a fist, not used to others interrupting her. “But make no mistake. I am the leader of this sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?” For just a moment, Severia could have sworn she saw something akin to hatred in the wacky jester’s eyes. But as quickly as she noticed it, it was gone. She wondered if Astrid saw it too.

“Oh yes, mistress! Perfectly! You’re the boss.” And on that note, the Keeper turned back to his large crate, fiddling with one of the edges.

Astrid huffed and stormed away, and soon everyone else in the room followed suit. Soon it was only the jester and his crate in the lobby, and Severia was left at the top of the stairs confused.

Where was the Night Mother? Surely she wasn’t…

“And how long does the young maiden intend on staring at poor Cicero from up upon her spooky stairwell?” The jester poked his head around the crate, locking her down with his stare. His eyes were a light caramel color – almost golden – and they twinkled with a mischievous intensity Severia had never seen in another person.

She wasn’t surprised he had noticed her. It wasn’t like she was hiding.

She slowly walked down the steps and stopped a few feet away from the new addition to their odd family. He went back to picking at the seams of his crate, attempting and failing at prying the pieces apart. She stood there in silence as he hummed quietly to himself, the odd tune jumpy and awkward, not following a proper rhythm. It bothered the vocalist in her.

“Does the curlicue-haired sister have a name?” he finally asked. The red haired jester looked away from his crate to lock her down in his gaze once more, the toothy grin he shot at her only serving to unnerve her.

Severia hesitated. She could actually correct the awful moniker the Brotherhood family had taken to calling her, but that would just raise more questions. “The others call me Siren.”

“ _The others call me Siren_.” he imitated in a rather accurate, but more sullen version of her own voice. The heat rising to Severia’s cheeks caused her to bite her lip to abstain from spouting something nasty at her new brother. “People call Cicero a fool, but that is not his name. Now, are you Siren by name, or do you lure men to their deaths with your song? If so, Cicero would _love_ to hear this death song of yours.” He stopped and looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for Severia to burst into song right then and there.

After fumbling with possible retorts in her mind, she grumbled and simply responded, “It’s just Siren.”

Cicero stuck his lower lip out in a pout, returning to his duties. “Boooooring.”

 _Well excuse the fuck outta’ me._ Was this guy for real? There was no way a man his age was behaving this way. From the look of him, he was at least in his late twenties. Possibly early thirties.

He stepped away from the large crate for just a moment, twirling elegantly and dropping down into an exaggerated, albeit courteous bow. Severia chewed at the inside of her cheek, the man’s ridiculous behavior making her want to run far, far away.

“Before the kind sister stands Cicero, Fool of Hearts and Keeper for his beloved Night Mother. It is a pleasure to meet another imperial in this strange and unfamiliar land.”

Skyrim? strange? If anyone other than an assassin in a jester’s motley had said that, she would’ve agreed. And her? _Kind_? He was either terrible at reading people or he was just another sarcastic asshole. Severia had merely given a curt nod. She didn’t necessarily want to speak to the man much more than she already had, but she was down here to gain information. And gain it she would.

Cicero lifted himself from his graceful bow and returned his attentions to the large crate.

Severia allowed herself to glance around the large lobby of the Falkreath sanctuary. Yeah, they were definitely alone. Astrid had clearly said that both the Keeper _and_ the Night Mother were welcome here. But the only two people standing here were the weird little man and herself.

After watching him struggle with trying to pry the front of the crate off with only his hands, the imperial girl couldn’t take it anymore. Just what was in that huge thing anyway? _Surely_ _it_ _wasn’t_ …

Severia settled her hand on her steel dagger. “May I?” she asked. It couldn’t hurt in the long run to be nice to this guy. Crazies like him were unpredictable, and she’d rather be on his good side if he decided to go on a rampage.

The man, Cicero, looked down to her blade and gasped excitedly. He held his hand out, waiting for Severia to place the steel in his hand. Not exactly what she had in mind, but…

She pulled the dagger out of her belt and handed it to the man hilt first.

He quickly snatched the weapon away without making any physical contact and set upon splitting the wood apart. Severia looked around the large room again, and listened for any new voices echoing off the stone walls of the hideout. Nope. No voices whatsoever. She watched him work as he whistled to himself. The tunes were once again nonsensical, and Severia resisted the urge to place her hands over her ears.

“So...” she started, fiddling with the leather strap that normally held her dagger to her belt. “Where’s the Night Mother?”

Cicero stopped and stared at Severia like she’d sprouted a second head. When the silence became more irritating than his insufferable whistling, he reached out and patted the wood of his crate with that toothy smile splitting his pale face.

Once it finally clicked, Severia was left with more questions than she started with. Instead she opted to watching as the jester finally managed to pry the front slab of wood away from the rest of the box, revealing the most beautifully ornate iron coffin she’d ever laid eyes on. She couldn’t help the soft pop her mouth made as her jaw dropped.

The Night Mother was a dead person.

A corpse.

This was a hundred times worse than an invisible person in the sky.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Severia watched as the odd redhead caressed the front of the black casket. He looked at it with such an unadulterated admiration that made Severia feel like she was interrupting an intimacy reserved for lovers. Her arms crossed over her chest, covering up her disappointment with the guise of irritation.

Cicero stopped his ministrations to hand the steel dagger back to Severia. She took it hesitantly, debating if she wanted to throw it away now or not.

Severia had hoped the Night Mother could tell her something. Give her a hint, a clue, _anything_. But she doubted the old crone did much speaking nowadays. She could always try her luck with the Keeper, but Severia didn’t necessarily feel like being in his company much longer. She put the dagger back into it’s home at her waist. She was suddenly very exhausted and craving the soft furs of her bed.

“Thank you for your assistance, sister. I’m sure Mother appreciates you just as much as humble Cicero does.” He made a show of pulling a linen handkerchief from the sleeve of his jester’s motley, not unlike a magician would, before turning to start polishing the large metal casket.

By the nines, he was odd.

Taking this as her cue to leave, Severia turned to walk back up the way she came. When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused.

The familiar tune was in her ear, thrumming with such intensity in her head that she almost stumbled.

 

_“_ _Crazy..._ _”_

 

That song.

Severia slowly turned to face the jester, and watched as his lips formed the words she knew better than her own name. He sang them quietly, whispering them to his dark matron. But she heard them louder than any scream. He muttered them like a prayer, and polished the casket in the rhythm of his words.

“ _I’m crazy for feeling so lonely...”_

That was her song.

The Keeper was singing _her_ song.

She stood there until the first verse reached its end, and Cicero smiled up at her once he realized she was still there.

“Beautiful tune, isn’t it?” he let out a sigh and a sad look came over him so quickly that Severia thought she may have imagined it. “It is and always will be poor Cicero’s favorite.”


	7. Chapter Six

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Six_

  


“Siren,” Astrid rounded the corner from above the staircase, and Severia slowly turned her head to face the nord woman in a daze. “I need to speak with you.” The other woman’s blue eyes smoldered with residual irritation, and it was almost enough to make Severia follow orders right then and there.

She hesitated, though. She whipped her head back to the still-humming jester, oblivious to the confusion he’d just caused.

“Now.” Astrid’s tone didn’t leave room for any more hesitation.

With one final glance at the jester, Severia turned and ascended the stairs to speak with their leader. The younger imperial followed the nord through the initiate’s quarter’s and down into the dining room. Nazir had returned to cleaning the dishes from their last meal, and Severia watched as Astrid grabbed an unopened bottle of mead, popped the cork, and took a long swig before turning to speak.

“I have a job for you,” she said, taking a seat at the large family-style table. “You’ve proved that you can handle the common rabble. Time to see if we can trust you to complete a job worth mentioning.”

Severia’s eyes narrowed, but Astrid was focused on taking another swig from her mead bottle. Nazir shot a look at their leader, curious yet hesitant. The nord woman saw that look, however, and threw a glare back that had Nazir quickly returning to his cleaning duties. With a groan, Astrid set her bottle down and looked back to Severia, gesturing for the younger girl to take a seat across from her. The young imperial did so slowly, training her face back into something that didn’t scream “hostility”.

Astrid took a deep breath before speaking.

“I need you to go to Markarth and speak to the apothecary’s assistant. You’ll probably find her in the Hag’s Cure, when the shop is open.” She twirled the cork of her mead bottle around in her hand. Severia could’ve sworn she saw the physical strain the older woman felt trying to reign back in her composure. “The girl’s been running her mouth. Wants an ex-lover killed. She’s apparently performed the Black Sacrament.”

Severia took the information in. Markarth? She’d never been there before. But she knew it’d be a few day’s journey on foot. She wondered what made this contract more important than the others she’d had. Up until now, it’s just been “one person wants another dead”. Not too complicated.

However, this would be her first time actually speaking to the client themselves. That was new. Severia wasn’t sure she liked showing her face to civilians. Seemed risky.

“Her name’s Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out.”

The imperial bounced her knee under the table, thinking over the task she’d been given. No, she didn’t like exposing herself as a killer to a random stranger. The Brotherhood was one thing, because they were all killers. But… an apothecary’s assistant?

But this was a direct assignment from Astrid. And it was becoming increasingly clear that those who didn’t follow her rules weren’t to be tolerated. “Anything else I should know?”

Astrid sighed, pleased the momentary silence was met with nothing but obedience. “Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done.” The blonde nord picked up her mead bottle once more, offering it out for Severia to take. The younger woman politely held a hand up, declining. Astrid shrugged, taking another swig for herself before continuing. “Since it’s your first real contract, I’ll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She’ll be generous, I’m sure.” A wicked grin plastered itself over the Brotherhood leader’s face. “They always are.”

 

_*_

  


Severia was relieved to finally be alone with her thoughts.

She’d retreated to the initiate’s quarters, leaving the odd little redhead to finish his maintenance on the metal casket instead of returning to interrogate him. She was already exhausted, and Cicero’s exuberant presence was enough to drain her down to her reserves. Astrid’s new assignment on top of all that didn’t give her much time to approach the situation with a clear mind.

There were three possible explanations for how the jester knew that song.

The first and most probable reason was that he and the Night Mother truly had been living underneath the city of Cheydinhal for the past five years. And if that was the case, it was no wonder that he knew the song perfectly and even enunciated certain words the same way she herself did. The fact that the jester may have been hearing her sing all this time had her face heating up. Severia didn’t much care for an audience to begin with, but singing every night for five years to someone she didn’t know was there set her on edge.

The second way he’d heard the song could’ve been from _that_ woman. Her Aunt Ali had sung the song to her as a child, but the woman had been presumed dead. No one had seen the older woman since the death of Severia’s mother, Aunt Ali’s sister.

The third could be that her Aunt had sung the song for someone else and it had simply traveled from there. But she was pretty sure that the older woman felt the song was just as sacred as Severia did.

She trudged up the stairs and into her bed, not bothering to remove her leather armor. Regardless, Severia needed to find out how Cicero had heard that song. It wasn’t exactly a dire situation, and she hadn’t lied about why she was here in the first place. But the song was precious to her… it was private.

And if she finds out that she’d been giving the eccentric jester a private show every night for the past five years…

Severia’s face flushed hotly, uncomfortable with that thought. Severia had felt many things since her Enigma had unleashed the emotions she had hidden deep beneath herself. This… _uncomfortable_ feeling had her wishing she could do it all differently.

Truly, she was not… _embarrassed_?

Shame was not a feeling Severia was accustomed to, for she did what she wanted without an inkling of remorse. And it wasn’t often that she had regretted a choice, even if the outcome wasn’t as favorable as it could’ve been. She made decisions easily, and didn’t look back on them. And that stupid jester had her face flushing more than once.

But, for the first time, Severia wished she could crawl under a rock and hide from the result of her actions.

The only aspect of the situation that appealed to her was the fact that Cicero didn’t recognize her. As long as she didn’t sing around him, then her anonymity should remain.

Severia groaned aloud, plastering her gloved hands on her face.

This was all rather circumstantial. For all she knew, the Keeper could’ve heard the song once before from someone who knew her Aunt Ali. She didn’t much want to approach the man and fling endless questions at him. Most of the siblings in the Brotherhood didn’t mind questions, as long as you don’t venture too far into their past. She hadn’t seen her Aunt Ali since her mother had died, and that was almost nine years ago.

Severia kept her leather clad hands plastered to her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Ever since she’d left Cheydinhal, her emotions had been running more and more rampant. Without her Enigma to sing to, she was slowly going mad. Fucking the thief in Riften had been a temporary fix, but that had been weeks ago. Since she didn’t have her entity here, and she couldn’t even sing without risking the little madman overhearing, a good screw might just be what she needed to reign herself back in. It worked the first time. There was no reason it wouldn’t work a second.

Ah, but Markarth. That was on the complete opposite end of Skyrim. Making a pit stop in Riften wouldn’t be an option if she were to get her first official job done in decent time.

Severia peeled her shrouded armor from her body, leaving her clothed in nothing but a linen shirt and pants. She slipped into her claimed bed, wondering what time of day it was and if it was appropriate to sleep yet. Not that she really cared. Everyone in the sanctuary tended to sleep in varying schedules, as excessive traveling and working at night would do to one.

She pulled the furs of her bed up to her chin, letting her worries float away from her one at a time.

Feeling things was so draining. Severia didn’t remember it being this exhausting back when she had her Enigma.

As her mind drifted away into sleep, she wished for just a moment that she could go back to the uncomplicated times of her apathy.

  


*

  


Cicero had many mixed feelings from his first day in his and his Mother’s new sanctuary.

First and foremost was his obvious distaste for the vile nord woman, Astrid. If it weren’t for the Tenets keeping the maniac in check, he would’ve cut out the impudent woman’s tongue for even suggesting that her word came above the Night Mother’s. That and the fact that the Night Mother wasn’t exactly giving orders lately, so Cicero would simply have to wait for a Listener. His Matron surely didn’t choose the pretender, so he would wait to act.

Once a Listener appeared, he could find a way to get rid of the fake leader.

The argonian, redguard, and dunmer woman didn’t speak to Cicero. They simply watched his antics with mild distaste until their vile leader left. Her angry lapdog followed close behind. The un-child looked upon the jester with curious eyes and a smile, but said nothing to the Keeper and went along her way as well. It was only when he turned back to his Mother’s wooden encasement that he saw her not far behind it.

There, hiding in the stairwell, was a tiny imperial woman. She watched him with chocolate, guarded eyes. Her petite, tanned face was framed with thick, brunette curls that stuck out haphazardly from her shrouded hood. The skin-tight armor of the Brotherhood showed that her breasts were modest, but her hips and thighs were anything but.

A pretty little thing, she was. Nothing extravagant, but beautiful in her plainness. And if the Keeper had time to fawn over fair young women, he would probably start with her.

She flinched when he called out to her, and she approached hesitantly, but confidently. Her steps were quiet and practiced, and if he hadn’t watched her approach him, he wouldn’t have even noticed her. Her gloved hand hovered near her blade naturally, as if she was consistently on high alert. It wasn’t obvious, however, and Cicero was sure he could only tell because he was one of the best.

Cicero wouldn’t think twice about this girl at a glance. Innocent, cute, and unassuming. But to the Keeper of the Dark Brotherhood, he could see the shadows that followed this creature of the night.

Yes, this girl would be a fine assassin. Dangerous, indeed. Sure to earn Mother’s favor.

When she gave her name in the broodiest of fashions, albeit a name he was _positive_ was fake, he couldn’t help but mock her. And instead of brushing him off like the fool he was, she blushed furiously and sputtered over herself. Oh, how this new sister was already so much fun.

And the new sister had even offered poor Cicero her help in unboxing Mother. That was something none of the others had done, and it went a long way for the jester. A wonderful daughter to his beloved Mother, for sure.

And yet she lingered, wanting to know about the Night Mother. The curlicue-haired sister didn’t seem to know much about the Night Mother if she was asking that with her coffin right next to them. The pretender was obviously not training their new initiates properly, though that didn’t surprise Cicero. He reminded himself to educate her thoroughly once a better opportunity arose.

Cicero’s new silent sister certainly didn’t talk much. And her face had been scrunched up for most of the time she lingered by the Keeper. Her eyes strayed to anywhere but his face, and Cicero vowed to himself that he would have much more fun with this sister in the future. But for now, it was time to tend to mother.

When Cicero turned back to his duties and the tiny sister had walked away without a word, he allowed his working tune to erupt from his lips. It always brought out his best work in caring for Mother, and it was only appropriate. She had given him the song. It was a beautifully intimate song, and he would give anything to hear it again from the source.

Cicero wondered, not for the first time since he left Cyrodiil, how his little bird was doing.

The words stopped flowing from the jester’s lips when he saw the curlicue sister watching him intently from the stairwell. She stared so intensely that Cicero almost regretted allowing his song to be heard by the new sister.

He had trouble reading her scrunched up face then.

The pretender had whisked the new sister away, leaving Cicero to his duties. Choosing not to think too much on the strange reaction, the Keeper set upon moving his Mother to the unkempt chapel up the stairwell. It was hard work for only one person, and he secretly hoped one of the siblings would’ve offered more assistance. It was alright, though. Upon realizing that the sanctuary was filled with brainwashed siblings following a harlot, Cicero wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else to touch his beloved Matron. He was used to it anyway. A Keeper that couldn’t properly keep wasn’t a very good Keeper. So he’d taken it upon himself to keep himself fit and in shape so that he could move his Mother at a moment’s notice.

The chapel was a mess. It was dusty and smelled of mold. The bedroom attached to the chapel, meant to be his, was equally as awful. His ire grew for the vile woman Astrid, and he set about cleaning up the impossible mess.

Cicero wished for only a moment that he was alone again. It almost seemed better than what he’d gotten himself into.

Ah, but it wasn’t about what poor Cicero wanted. It was about Mother. It always was.

The hours trickled by as the Keeper swept, dusted, and washed the chapel and altar for his Mother. As terrible as the people who lived here were, it was nice to give his Mother a proper chamber. The stained glass depicting the Dread Father made for a positively sinister backdrop for the Night Mother’s casket. It illuminated her in an ethereal sanguine light, and the candles he’d set up around her had the dark ebony metal gleaming in the darkness. Once he became satisfied with the _new_ old chapel’s appearance, he’d sat on one of the newly repaired pews directly in front of the altar.

It was silent again.

The jester fought it’s way to the forefront of his mind, laughing and praising him for a job well done. Mother was surely proud of him, oh yes. Foolish Cicero was a foolish man, but an oh so wonderful Keeper. It was only a matter of time before his Mother chose a new Listener. It had to be soon. There just had to be one here. If there wasn’t then- then-

_Everything you’ve done has been for nothing._

The gleeful voice of the jester taunted him. It ripped at his brain and heart from the inside, and it laughed and laughed until finally the noise erupted from the Keeper’s own throat.

No, that was ridiculous. Mother would choose eventually. It was okay.

“Cicero?”

The red haired jester whipped his head around to stare at the open doorway, the tiny, curlicue-haired sister staring at him warily.

By Sithis, she moved quietly.

It only took a moment for the Keeper to compose himself and plaster his signature grin back into place. Mother had saved him from the silence once again.

“Something I can help you with, tiny sister?” he asked, watching as she hesitated at the door. She seemed conflicted about something, and he wondered if she was just going to turn and walk away without a word like last time. After a moment of consideration, she took a deep breath and walked into the chapel, eyes glued to the Night Mother’s casket. She only took a few steps in before coming to a halt.

She looked different out of her shrouded armor. The black and brown leather ensemble she wore was just as figure enhancing, but it made her seem even more ordinary. If it weren’t for the dagger strapped to her hip and the one he was sure she had hidden in her boot, he would’ve thought she was just your average citizen. Her hair was slightly tamed and pulled into a side braid, but a few stray curls still managed to escape her leather hair strap. Her hood was down, but the little light they had in the chapel still hid her dark facial features somewhat.

Cicero watched her watch the Night Mother for what seemed like a lifetime before she inclined her head slightly towards the Keeper. “Did you… do all of this? Overnight?” she inquired quietly, eyes never leaving the giant metal coffin.

Siren was a suitable moniker for this tiny sister. Even if her appearance was ordinary, her voice was something sweet and light and womanly. He wondered if the Siren sang just as beautifully as she spoke.

“Cicero couldn’t possibly rest while his Mother was cooped up in some confining wooden box.” he stood gracefully, clapping his hands and giggling tiredly. “Only the best for Mother.”

Only then did she drag her eyes away from the Night Mother, eyeing him up and down in the span of a second. “You’re exhausted.” The observation threw Cicero for a loop. Or two. “You should take better care of yourself. I’m sure she’d want that.”

Ignoring the sentiment for what Cicero was sure it was, he instead chuckled nervously, laying a hand on the hilt of his ebony dagger. “And you… _presume_ to know what it is the Night Mother wants? Do you speak for our Matron? _Hmm_?”

The tiny sister was taken aback, and her face reverted to its irritated, scrunched up expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead only shook her head and walked out of the room, closing the door surprisingly softly behind her.

Only when he was sure she was gone did Cicero relax his tense posture and allow his hand to fall from the hilt of his dagger. He descended to the floor, allowing himself to wrap his arms around his knees. The laughter came then, soothing him until he fell into a fitful sleep right there on the swept stone floor.

Oh, how he missed the days of sending countless souls to the Void.

  


*

  


Severia stepped out of the dark Sanctuary and into the fresh air of the surrounding forest. Her feet took her the fifteen minute trek to the shops in Falkreath to stock up before her journey to Markarth.

She had no idea what had compelled her to speak to the loony jester. For a split second, she thought she had felt her Enigma. It had been so brief, but undeniable. Her feet had taken her through the double doors into the old chapel before she could stop them. The feeling was gone as fast as it had come, but it had left her staring into the eyes of a very distressed, very _tired_ Keeper.

Well. This was awkward.

It didn’t take a genius to realize he’d been up all night cleaning the musty old room for the Night Mother after a long journey. His disheveled hair and dark circles gave away his exhaustion, so she did what she assumed any decent person would in a moment like that. This unbalanced man was technically one of them now, so being nice couldn’t hurt.

Or so she thought. When he’d spit her concern right back in her face, she’d been too angry to speak. So much for that.

Severia decided she wouldn’t waste any more energy on the loon. He was obviously disturbed in more ways than one, and she didn’t have much to gain from him that was worth the inconvenience of speaking with him.

She’d felt her Enigma. Even if it was only for a second. But it was there, in the Sanctuary.

And a strong feeling in her gut told her the answer lied with the Night Mother.

But that would have to wait. Severia had a contract to complete, and the sooner that was done, the sooner she could discover the truth.

The five day trek to Markarth was uneventful for the most part. The weather stayed moderate and somewhat warm for Skyrim, and the trail through the mountains was beautiful in its own right. Being alone for the few days had eased Severia into a rather content state. With nothing around to rouse her into an emotional fit, her journey was almost enjoyable. It wasn’t until she was closer to the city that she felt eyes on her.

She didn’t give away that she knew she was being followed. From her years as a thief, she knew that looking suspicious only put the ones watching you on high alert. The less they knew that _she_ knew, the better. Only when she’d walked between a cluster of trees did she act. Deciding she was properly hidden, she jumped up the side of the nearest tree, only stopping to rest on one of the lower, thicker branches. She only had to wait a moment before two figures appeared at the base of the tree, confused and searching for her. A grin split her face and she dropped down from her branch, slitting the throat of the first before the second even noticed she was there. It only took a single moment before the other figure turned to face their attacker, and by then it was too late. Severia plunged her steel dagger into the man’s suprasternal notch, twisted violently, and retrieved her blade before her enemy could blink.

The two, bandits she assumed, fell lifelessly to her feet. They were dressed oddly, with barely concealing furs and deer bones adorning their clothes. She didn’t think too much on it, and pulled her hood farther down her face to conceal her identity from any possible onlookers.

There. Now it was a pleasant trip.


	8. Chapter Seven

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

  


_Chapter Seven_

  


 

Severia wasted no time walking straight to the city’s inn. Even the murder taking place in the outdoor market hadn’t slowed her stride. Shit happened. She didn’t need to stop and stare at someone else’s handiwork when she could just as easily appreciate her own.

The sun had set almost an hour earlier, so she was sure the contact would no longer be at her job. She had planned to simply pay for a room and continue her work tomorrow, but her plans changed when she overheard the man working the counter call out to a young woman sitting at one of the tables.

“Another round for you, Muiri?” the man asked.

The young woman he addressed smiled and shook her head, promising that she’d pay off her tab before retiring to bed.

Bingo.

Severia was exhausted, but if her contact was right there, there was no reason to hold off. She went to the man working the counter and payed for a night, stuffing the key into one of the pockets on her leather vest. She sat down at a table in the corner farthest from her contact with a plate of meat and veggies and a mug of mead. Vile stuff, but she could use the pick me up.

She kept her hood low on her face as she ate, and eyed the short-haired brunette from across the room. It was hard to be subtle, for the woman was glancing around nervously the entire time she ate. She was definitely expecting someone. Little did she know that someone was right there.

When Muiri finished her meal, she went up to pay her tab and retreated into one of the back hallways.

Waiting a minute more, Severia did the same and walked down the way the contact had disappeared. The assassin found her sitting at a desk, scribbling away at something with her bedroom door wide open. After assessing her surroundings and establishing that no one was watching, Severia quietly slipped into the room and clicked the door shut behind herself.

The other woman flinched visibly at the small sound, whipping her head around to and locking her gaze to Severia’s small form.

She hesitated before speaking. “Why are you looking at me like that? Who… who are you?”

Severia simply placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger, and for a moment was grateful the other woman was sitting down. She was sure she wouldn’t seem that threatening if the other woman noticed their height difference. Now… how to appear intimidating? What would Astrid say? Probably something mysterious and ominous.

“The Dark Brotherhood has come, Muiri.”

Yeah, that was good.

Muiri’s jaw dropped, and she pushed her chair abruptly away from her desk. She looked the smaller assassin up and down, as if unsure the minuscule imperial was capable of being part of such a notorious group of murderers.

Irritated, Severia rushed forward and plunged her steel dagger through the letter she’d been writing, startling a shrill gasp from the other woman. Muiri looked up, trembling slightly, and visibly swallowed.

Much better.

“The Dark Brotherh… I-I’m sorry. You’re… You’re really _here-_ The… The Black Sacrament, it…” She licked at suddenly dry lips, her eyes darting away from the much more menacing ones. “It actually worked?”

“Obviously,” spat Severia. “Now tell me what you need.”

It was then that the contact’s back straightened ever so slightly, her fearful eyes turning into ones of bitterness and rage. “What I need?” she started, fisting both hands into the cloth of her skirt. “What I need is for Alain Dufont to die. I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is.” Her green eyes finally lifted again to Severia’s brown ones, most of the fear in her face dissipating by the second.

Part of Severia was impressed. She knew she wasn’t the most threatening presence, but she was an obvious murderer. Rage in it’s purest form wasn’t a feeling Severia was familiar with, but it was interesting to watch up close. She took a mental note. “I’ll need more to go on than that.”

“I… I didn’t know it when we were… with each other, but Alain is actually the leader of a group of cutthroats.” At the assassin’s narrowed eyes, Muiri quickly flew to correct herself. “B-Bandits. They’re holed up in some old dwarven ruin – Raldbthar. It’s near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It’s where they stage their raids.”

Fuck- _Windhelm_? Of course the bitch would want her to cross all of Skyrim to kill some pig of a man.

“I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him.” _Obviously_. “I don’t care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!” Severia almost groaned aloud, but stopped herself when Astrid’s words rang through her mind.

_Represent your family well._

Yeah, well, she didn’t have to like it.

Pulling her dagger free from the splintered wood, Severia took a step back towards the door.

Muiri held a hand out as if to stop her, and fumbled over her words a bit before getting out, “Well, there is one more thing. I-If you’re interested.” When the woman didn’t speak again, Severia inclined her head towards the woman, attention given. “If you can, I want you to kill someone else as well.”

_If I can._

“You don’t have to. Not as part of our deal. But if you do… I’ll pay you even more.”

Well, well. Severia didn’t like many things, but gold was definitely one of them.

“Her name is Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too… I’ll make it worth your while.” Muiri looked up to the small assassin, eyes pleading. When the younger woman didn’t speak, Muiri bit her lip and dropped her gaze.

“It will be done.”

When Muiri lifted her gaze to the Brotherhood assassin, she had already left.

  


*

  


Cicero found the Falkreath sanctuary to be rather boring. Most of the inhabitants wouldn’t give him the time of day, and the ones who did didn’t even seem to want him around. The argonian was polite enough to let the jester rant at him, but he didn’t say anything back. The un-child simply watched his antics as a mother would a toddler, seemingly enjoying the fact that her usually quiet home was being thrown into chaos by the wacky redhead.

Festus Krex, an elderly mage, was the closest thing to real conversation he could get, and even then the old man’s patience ran thin quickly. Festus Krex seemed to appreciate the authority of the Old Ways and Cicero’s position as Keeper, but he still held loyalty to the pretender. It was alright, though. Once a Listener was found, the old mage would come around.

Cicero very much enjoyed the quiet chatter that ran through the sanctuary at night, even if he didn’t necessarily like the people in it. Astrid and her lapdog wouldn’t burden themselves by staying in the same room as him for longer than two seconds, and that suited the Keeper just fine. He detested them anyway. Once Mother chose a Listener, he’d find some way to get rid of the harlot.

When he didn’t see the curlicue sister for the third day in a row, he questioned the un-child about her whereabouts. He did feel slightly bad about dismissing his new sister’s concerns when she was simply attempting to be nice, but it had been too long since anyone had said anything like that to him. Hell, it’d been a long, long time since he’d even spoken to anyone. That probably explained why everyone here hated him. And he’d thrown the kindness of the only sibling who attempted to associate with him right back in her face.

“Why, our broody Siren has been given a rather important contract to test her abilities. I sure do hope she survives. She is rather entertaining.” the young vampire had said, sighing dramatically.

Yes. Cicero hoped that she lived as well.

In the meantime, he’d spent his time trying to repair the poor excuse of a bedroom the harlot had assigned him. He knew he could just sleep in the initiate’s room, but even foolish Cicero knew he wasn’t wanted there. He didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in this new home yet, and a private space was sorely needed. Nobody had come to visit the Night Mother’s chapel since the curlicue sister had dropped in, so that had become a somewhat private place for Cicero to be with his Mother.

He spoke to her often. However, she did not speak back. And that was okay. She will speak when she is ready.

On days the pretender shot jabs at poor Cicero, however, he would beg for a Listener. Beg to be made Listener. Anything to be able to put the harlot in her place.

By Sithis, how he hated that vile woman.

When the second week since the curlicue sister’s departure came to an end, Cicero had accepted that he would never get his chance to apologize. He had been surprised though, and had really expected her to be a skilled assassin. The way she carried herself spoke to her lethal skills, and Cicero was never wrong in his assessment. Perhaps she was simply running late. He almost wanted to go and search for her.

Almost.

The third week came to an end, and still the petite Siren was nowhere to be seen.

Cicero was more distraught than he thought he’d be. He had really hoped to find a true sibling in the imperial woman. She seemed so powerful, and she cared to speak with their Keeper. She was a quiet one, but that was okay. He could’ve done the talking. Cicero always does all the talking.

It was right before the end of the fourth week when he saw her stride into the open lobby of the sanctuary. It seemed like he was not the only one who thought her dead, as the un-child and argonian quickly approached her with fervent inquiries. He stayed hidden in the shadow of the stairwell, much like she had when they he’d first arrived.

She pulled her hood back, revealing tangled curls and her typical scrunched up face.

“Vile woman sent me to Windhelm and back.” he’d heard her say. “Dwemer ruins are officially the worst thing about Skyrim.”

  


*

  


“You must tell us more of this Dwemer ruin. I’ve been in quite a few myself, and I know firsthand how dreadfully awful they can be.” Babette flashed her fangs as she giggled, the contrast of dangerous and innocent striking to say the least.

“I’ve only heard stories, myself.” Veezara piped in, looking eagerly between both females.

Severia tried not to smile as she retold her tale of the countless bandits she’d killed in the ruin, and the unsuspecting woman she’d killed in Windhelm. She spoke of Muiri and her “bonus”, holding out the ring for the other two to inspect. Veezara’s eyes lit up and Babette’s mouth formed an appreciative “O” while staring at the piece of jewelry. Severia slipped the piece back into her vest pocket, wondering how much she could get for it.

“Well, well, _well_...” came the high-pitched giggle of the jester. “Cicero thought you had been killed! But as it seems, it was tiny sister who was off doing the killing! Hahaha!”

Severia narrowed her eyes at the approaching Keeper, holding onto his sides as his giggles subsided. She had not forgotten their last encounter. Or her promise to herself not to waste energy on him.

Something dark flashed in the imperial girl’s eyes as she addressed the jester. “Guess the ‘tiny sister’ can create some awfully big messes.” However, this only served to egg him on, and he laughed even harder.

“Oh yes, oh yes indeed! Cicero likes the tiny sister! How he wishes he could’ve seen the looks on those poor bandits’ faces when they saw a real life dwarf approach them with a knife drawn!” He cackled at his own joke, waving his hands in front of his face like he was pretending to be scared of something. “ _No, help us!_ ” he mocked in a fake nord accent. “ _The dwarves are hauntin’ this ‘ol ruin!_ ”

Babette burst into a fit of giggles, and even Veezara seemed to find the spot-on accent funny. Severia bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to let him see even a hint of her amusement.

“Dear Keeper, I’m sure you’ve realized by now that our sweet Siren does not have a sense of humor.” Babette patted the imperial girl on the forearm, eyes crinkling with good intent and slight apology.

“Traitor,” she mumbled, looking to Veezara for some kind of salvation. When he shrugged and looked away from her attempting to muffle his own chuckles, she turned to leave.

“Ah, the tiny sister has such adorable blushing cheeks!” came the jester’s loud voice. “Cicero just wants to pinch them!” he shuffled towards her, hands outstretched and reaching for her face.

Severia quickly pulled the steel dagger from her side and held the tip to his nose before he could walk a step farther. He only smiled at her, eyelids heavy and white teeth shining.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.” she growled, slowly backing away and going up the way she came to look for Astrid. She glanced back at the last moment, noticing that the jester was still standing where she left him, completely still with arms outstretched and all. When he noticed her gaze, he wiggled the fingers of one hand in a small wave.

She bit her bottom lip hard and turned away, telling herself over and over that she was too irritated to laugh.

When Astrid walked out from the hall that lead to her and Arnbjorn’s bedroom, she seemed surprised to see Severia, much like the others.

“Well, well, well...” Started the older woman, much like Cicero had done. “And here I thought you were killed in the… _line of duty._ ” Astrid gave the younger woman a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for an explanation.

“Going to Markarth, then Windhelm, then back to Markarth, and then back here took quite a bit of traveling.” said Severia, deciding to leave her pit stop in Riften out of the equation. “And I prefer not to take carriages if I can help it.”

Astrid simply nodded, requesting more information on the contract itself.

“Well, I had to infiltrate a Dwemer ruin filled with bandits to get to him, but he died. I even got a bonus for killing some other woman in Windhelm.”

Astrid’s eyes gleamed appreciatively. Clearly she liked what she heard, and that put Severia at ease. Ever since the jester’s arrival, she hadn’t seen an actual smile on the nord woman. “Job well done, my sister. You’ll do very well here.” Astrid clapped a hand on the imperial girl’s small shoulder. “You can keep everything you made for this assignment. But don’t expect that privilege in the future.”

Severia wanted to retort, but reigned herself in. She knew that was how it worked in the Brotherhood. Assignments were given by the higher-ups, and that was a leisure that Severia hadn’t had as a thief. However, she’d never had to share during her time as a thief. She guessed it was alright, though. It wasn’t like she wasn’t picking up extra goodies in the houses of the cities she was visiting. Old habits die hard, she assumed.

Severia hoped they were done talking now. She was really exhausted from her nearly month long trip, and yet Astrid still looked like she had something she wanted to say. After a minute of lip biting and pensive eyes, Astrid finally released her hold on the younger assassin.

“I need your assistance with a matter of a more… _personal_ nature.”

Ugh. Severia hated _personal_.

“Is, uh… Is something wrong?”

“It’s Cicero.” she started, eyes immediately darkening. “Ever since he arrived, his behavior’s been, well… erratic would be an understatement.”

_No shit._

“I do believe he is truly mad.” she said, shaking her head and allowing her forehead to fall into her open palm. “But it’s more than that. The little shit has been locking himself in the Night Mother’s chamber, and talking. To someone. In hushed, frantic tones.”

The exhaustion was getting to her, and Severia really didn’t want anything to do with this. She had already told herself she wouldn’t be bothered with him. Once she had rested, she planned on approaching the Night Mother to figure out the truth of her Enigma. She didn’t want this drama. “Astrid, you said so yourself. He’s crazy. You do know he’s just talking to himself, right?”

The older woman shook her head, not accepting the obvious truth so easily. “No, you don’t understand. The idiot is speaking _to_ someone. I need to know who he is speaking with. What they’re planning.” her eyes narrowed and the creak of leather suggested clenched fists. “I fear treachery.”

Well. Perhaps Cicero wasn’t the only insane one in the Dark Brotherhood. But that shouldn’t have surprised her.

Severia was the newest member, and only showed up a few weeks before Cicero himself. If there was anyone to suspect of treachery, surely it would be herself. The imperial felt like something was very off about this request. Surely she was only asking this of her because she suspected her? But then why did Astrid ask her, possibly giving her a head’s up?

Damn, she was too tired for this shit.

“Astrid, don’t you think you’re being a bit… paranoid?”

“Maybe, but my gut’s telling me that demented little fool is up to something. He can’t be trusted.”

Simply wanting the conversation to be over, Severia sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

It was then that Astrid’s glare morphed into something more mischievous and cunning. Dear Sithis, what had she gotten herself in to?

“Dear sister...” she started, placing her hand upon Severia’s shoulder once more. “I need you to steal into that chamber. Eavesdrop on their meeting.”

And possibly piss off the psycho jester? No thanks.

“It’ll be no use clinging to the shadows. They’ll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they’d never think to look...” Astrid leaned in farther, as if divulging her with typical women’s gossip. “Like inside the Night Mother’s coffin.”

“No.”

Astrid’s face faltered. “No?”

“No.”

Severia’s face left no room for argument. Astrid fumbled slightly, not expecting the adamant response. “And why not?”

The young imperial took a step back, brushing the leader’s hand from her shoulder. “That just seems so… disrespectful. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to ask someone else. I’ll take any professional assignment you give me, but spying on the people I'm supposed to call ‘siblings’ isn’t what I signed up for.”

Her only clue to her Enigma was the Night Mother. If she really was some kind of sentient being, why the fuck would she go and try to piss her off? Not to mention, sharing a small confined space like that with a corpse really just wasn’t her cup of tea.

As Severia moved to walk out of the room, Astrid shouted after her.

“And how do I know you two aren’t working together? How do you intend to prove your loyalty?”

The younger assassin brought both hands to her face, attempting and failing to rub the irritation away. Finally, she turned and laid very tired, very _unamused_ eyes on her leader. “The fact that I’m here should be enough to prove my loyalty. I don’t work well with others to begin with, and if you’ve been digging around in my past like I know you have, you should know that already. Watch me sleep for all I care, because that’s all I’ll be doing for the next few days. I want nothing to do with him.”

And with that, Severia left a dumbfounded Dark Brotherhood leader to fume by herself, and the young imperial didn’t stop walking until she fell face first into the soft furs of her bed.


	9. Chapter Eight

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

_Chapter Eight_

  


Two days had passed since Severia returned to the stressful environment that was the Falkreath sanctuary. True to her word, all the young imperial had done was sleep, eat, then sleep some more. Thankfully, her other siblings had stayed out of her way. She was sure Astrid had expressed some kind of displeasure towards the other members, and that was seemed to be enough to keep many from associating with her. Babette still questioned her daily about her well-being, but didn’t push her into conversation.

On the morning of the third day, when the majority of the sanctuary was asleep, Severia set about to approach the Night Mother’s coffin.

The stress from her last assignment had the young imperial lashing out and killing recklessly, especially on the roads between the major cities. She was letting herself become too dangerous, too sloppy. Even if the Night Mother was her beloved Enigma, there was no way she would’ve been able to hold out until she returned. Riften was a few days from Windhelm, but still the faster solution.

She’d waited until the sun began to set, and the redheaded thief began packing up his market stall for the day. She had appeared behind him, startling him. He seemed to be wary of her at first, but when Severia had gripped him by the sleeve and looked up at him through thick, fluffy lashes, he’d been all smiles.

Brynjolf led her to the Bee and Barb with his sack of fake potions on his shoulder, and they hadn’t wasted time in renting a room for the night.

He had been eager to please her once again, and though he whispered sweet nothings to her, she remained silent save for the occasional gasp or moan.

When they’d finished, he remained in the bed with her, head propped up on one hand while the other lay draped across her toned stomach. His grin was infectious, and the young imperial couldn’t help but give him her own smile in return. The after-effects of her release had her feeling awfully indulgent to the rugged thief.

“Stay,” he’d said. “My guild could use a new thief.”

Her smile faltered when she realized there was more to it than that. The way his grin touched his eyes wasn’t just the glee of finding a potential work-mate. And the way his fingers drew circles around her belly-button was enough to set her on edge. That goofy smile on his face was all for her. She’d seen that look before, in Cheydinhal, between husbands and wives. He liked her. A little too much for the imperial’s taste.

She’d set her hand over his, stopping his ministrations, and pulled her eyes away from his shining green ones.

No. She didn’t have the capability. Not for something as involved as love.

“I only came here because I didn’t have another choice.” she said, not wanting to see the possible disappointment on the thief’s face. To her surprise, he’d only chuckled and grabbed onto the petite hand that had stopped his earlier attentions.

“A woman like you has plenty of choices, lass.” he’d said, leaning closer to her face to let his warm breath fan over her ear. “But I’m honored that you chose me for your first time, as well as your second.” he nipped at her earlobe then, causing tiny shivers to erupt down her spine. She pulled her hand away and stood from the bed.

“It was… convenient.” and with that, she’d grabbed her clothes from the floor and began to redress. He didn’t say anything else, only watched her with half-lidded eyes and a sad smile.

Brynjolf was a patient man. And he knew she’d be back again.

Severia had left town immediately after, deciding to buy a ride to Markarth to make up for lost time. It wasn’t ideal, but the hood covering the majority of her face helped reassure her.

And now, after her meeting with Astrid and much rest, it was time to approach the Night Mother.

She’d waited patiently, seated on the edge of her fur-lined initiate’s bed. Cicero typically left the Night Mother’s chapel shortly after sunrise to get food, and would stay in the area while he ate. He’d come this way, she knew, to avoid running into Astrid or Arnbjorn.

Just when she began to think he wouldn’t show, the jester came skipping along, descending the stairs and humming gleefully while rubbing at his stomach with both hands.

Now was her chance.

Severia slowly got to her bare feet, and hurried to the big double doors as quietly as she could. The doors opened silently, thanks to the Keeper’s excellent care of the room. The imperial entered the room, slowly closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

There, glowing in the soft candlelight was the ebony metal of the Night Mother’s casket.

“I’ve been waiting for this...” came the young woman’s mumbled words. “I need to know.” she slowly walked up to the coffin, allowing one hand to rest gently upon the polished metal. She felt a chill in the room dressed only in her basic linens, but the shiver that went down her spine when she came in contact with the cold iron felt anything but natural. At the sensation, Severia lifted her second hand to rest upon the coffin, right next to her other.

There, she could feel it.

“Speak to me,” she insisted. “I know you can.”

She waited, her palms sweaty and the rest of her shivering with the cold chill of the stone room.

Faster than her quick eyes could follow, the large metal casket doors flung open, pushing her hands away with them. She let out a light squeak, but composed herself almost immediately. The last thing she needed was that insufferable jester to bother her during such an important moment.

_**“My daughter.”**_ came the elegant, womanly voice. _**“You have done well to find me.”**_

Severia’s breath caught in her throat as she stared straight ahead into the glowing red eyes of the dunmer woman before her. She was… beautiful, to say the least. Her long sable hair was darker than night, and the matching black dress that adorned her body clung appreciatively to her voluptuous, womanly curves.

This beautiful woman had been locked up in that confining casket this whole time?

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and tried to speak, but no words came out.

_**“It has been long enough, little one. It is time for the Dark Brotherhood to rise to it’s former glory.”**_ one flawless, gray-skinned hand reach out to caress the cheek of the young imperial. The sensation was strikingly warm, a sharp contrast to the icy chill of the room. Severia closed her eyes, allowing her cheek to push gently into the welcoming hand. It felt divine. _**“I have left you alone with your turmoil for too long, child. In return for you**_ _ **r**_ _ **devotion, I shall**_ _ **clarify your heart**_ _ **.”**_ Another hand came to rest on Severia’s other cheek, and the warmth seeped through her skin and slowly began to spread throughout her mind, abdomen, and down to her chilled toes. _**“**_ _ **Only then will you be able to serve your Brotherhood without fail.”**_

“Thank you, Mother.” The words were out before Severia could stop herself, as if someone else were speaking for her.

The sensation of thumbs brushing along her cheeks had the young imperial opening her eyes once again. She was met once again with those wondrous sanguine pools, and they stared into her as if they saw every little bit that she had attempted to hide from the world. And, surprisingly, Severia didn’t mind. _**“My sweet Cicero...”**_ began the Night Mother, _**“He has done so well for me, as you have done so well for him.”**_

Severia flinched at the mention of the jester.“What do you mean, Mother?”

The Night Mother ignored her question, and continued with her speech. _**“He has waited so long to hear the words. Please, my dear daughter, give them to him. Tell him, ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’.**_ _ **He**_ _ **will be your one true ally for the rest of your days as my Listener**_ _ **.”**_ Severia opened her mouth to question that, but the Night Mother pressed a soft fingertip to the imperial’s lips. _ **“Only then will you travel to Volunruud. Seek out Amaund Motierre. Accept his contract, and**_ _ **then you yourself must**_ _ **send the necessary soul to Sithis.”**_

Severia’s eyebrows drew down into a frown. The imperial placed a hesitant hand over one of the Night Mother’s, gently pulling the elegant hand away from her mouth so she could speak.Brown eyes searched deep red ones for answers. “I- I don’t understand.” It was so much, too much to take in at once. The jester- her ally? Some strange code and a… a contract?

Her Enigma had been a passive presence in her life until now. And yet, she owed her Enigma, _the Night Mother_ , everything. She found herself wanting to please her Enigma more than ever before. Her entire being yearned to please. How she had missed singing for her mother in Cheydinhal.

The Night Mother smiled- a blinding, beautiful smile- and she lowered her warm hands to rest on her daughter’s shoulders. _**“Keep my beloved Cicero safe, dear daughter, and he shall do the same for you.”**_

And with that, Severia’s vision went white.

  


*

  


Cicero couldn’t believe his eyes.

The curlicue sister, the tiny sister, the supposed _kind_ sister-

She was standing right in front of his exposed Mother, arms outstretched as if she meant to lay her unworthy hand upon her.

He snapped.

The jester lunged forward, drawing his knife and having the tiny sister’s back held flush against his chest. His ebony dagger pricked at the sensitive skin covering her jugular, and a small bead of blood trickled it’s way down to stain the white collar of her linen shirt. She remained stiff and didn’t fight his hold.

“You had better have a very good reason for attempting to defile the Night Mother’s body.” whispered the jester urgently. “Oh ho ho ho hoooo…. How you’d better have an _excellent_ excuse or sweet Cicero will make an _example_ of the tiny sister, he will!” He yanked her back by her thick hair, earning a startled grunt from the smaller imperial. She opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t quick enough for the jester. “ _Speak, worm_!”

“Darkness rises when silence dies!”

…

What… had she said?

Cicero’s grip on his ebony dagger loosened ever so slightly, allowing the younger woman an extra inch of breathing room. “What… What did you say?”

“Darkne-” she gasped for air, “Darkness rises… when silence dies.”

Cicero retrieved his knife and stepped back from the small woman, eyes glued to the brunette curls that adorned the back of her head. He could only watch in stunned silence as the sibling stumbled forward, falling shakily to her knees before the Night Mother’s coffin. She looked up to lock her eyes onto the shriveled form of the Matron.

“Some ally…” she’d mumbled to someone other than him.

Mother… has chosen? Mother chose a Listener! She was back. She was _back_. The binding words… Mother’s only way of speaking with sweet Cicero…

And the tiny, curlicue-haired, dangerous, _kind_ sister had been the one to speak them.

An ear splitting laugh bounced off the walls of the stone chamber, causing the new Listener to flinch and turn to look over her shoulder.

He jumped, he danced, he clapped. His watery eyes threatened to spill tears, but he would not allow that kind of behavior in front of his new Listener, oh no. He’d be a good Keeper, he would. His Listener, his _Listener_ … such a pretty and kind Listener she was!

“Mother chose well, she has!” he cackled, rushing forward to hurriedly help his new Listener to her feet. “You are the Listener! _You are the Listener_!” he jumped in place, holding his Listener’s hands gingerly between his own. “What did she say? What did she _say_? Oh _, tell Cicero what Mother said to you_!”

The imperial woman stood stock still, eyes roaming nervously over the jester’s excited bouncing figure.

“What is going on in here?” Astrid threw open both double doors leading into the chamber, eyes narrowing dangerously on the tiny sister’s and Cicero’s joined hands. The un-child hid in Astrid’s shadow, watching the interaction with wide, curious eyes.

Before the harlot could speak again, Cicero was jumping again and laughing madly. “What is going on is that Mother has _finally_ chosen a new Listener! The Dark Brotherhood is on the rise, it is! With Mother’s guidance, the Brotherhood will be _unstoppable_! Hahaha!” The jester released the young imperial’s hands, choosing instead to twirl around the room in circles, cackling to himself and clapping joyously. Astrid took the temporary distraction to slide in and up into Severia’s face, gripping the younger woman’s upper arm.

Severia really wished she’d stop doing that.

“What the hell is going on here? I knew you were in cahoots with that madman! You can’t be trusted!” Astrid pulled on the smaller girl’s arm, causing her to stumble slightly. In a flash of red and black, the jester had pulled the pretender’s hand from his Listener and shoved it uncomfortably behind the nord’s back. His ebony blade was once again up against a jugular, but this time he was much happier about who was under his knife.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Pretender! Laying your dirty hands on the Listener is against the rules!” he leaned in to whisper dangerously against the shell of the struggling woman's ear. “Unless… you _wish_ to invoke the Wrath of Sithis?”

“Let go of me you bumbling fool!” Astrid struggled against the jester’s hold, but the madman’s superior muscle mass and sharp dagger kept her from releasing herself.

Babette made her presence known, looking frantically between the two hostile siblings.

“Both of you, stop it!” came the shout of the tiny, shaking imperial. Both figures stopped their struggling, eyeing the tiny woman with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “There is no treachery!” she shouted at Astrid, cheeks flaming. She looked over the offending woman’s face to lock eyes with Cicero. “And there will be no Wrath invoked this day! Release her!”

Cicero hesitantly retreated his blade, taking a few steps away from the vile nord. He didn’t trust the pretender, but he had to trust his Listener.

As Astrid pulled herself together, the small Siren held a reassuring hand out to the older woman. “She spoke to me. I won’t lie about that. And I don’t care if you don’t believe me right now or not.” When the older woman didn’t accept the gesture and instead took a step back towards where Babette was standing, the Listener allowed her hand to fall. “But she gave us a job. I have to go to Volunruud and speak to an Amaund Motierre. It’s important. I feel it.”

Astrid shook her head, not wanting to take in any of the information the younger woman was spouting. “You aren’t going _anywhere_ without my permission! This is my sanctuary! You would do well to remember that!”

Cicero shifted into crouch, ready to launch himself at the pretender once again. The tiny sister held up a hand to stop him, and Cicero begrudgingly obeyed.

Babette looked between the siblings, wondering what to make of it all. If the Keeper claimed she spoke the binding words, then the tiny Siren must be the Listener. She hadn’t expected something like that to happen for quite a while… a few decades at least. This should’ve been wonderful news. But if she knew Astrid, she knew that sharing authority was going to be a big issue.

  


*

  


“Let her go.” said Babette, grabbing the attention of the three other adults. “Send her with another sibling to verify. Keep her little jester here as incentive.”

Severia’s eyes narrowed at that. Cicero… as incentive? She didn’t much care for the fool for them to successfully use him as bait, but the Night Mother had entrusted him to her. She’d die before she let Mother down. And she spoke the truth anyway. There was definitely an Amaund Motierre out there waiting for them. There was blood to be spilled for Sithis.

Astrid seemed to ponder over the idea for a moment before shaking her head and stepping back towards the double doors. “No. No! Nobody moves without my permission.”

Severia didn’t like that. This was going to be a problem.

“One day. One day and _I_ will come up with a decision.”

One day. She didn’t like it, but if it meant keeping the family intact, she would accept it.

Severia nodded stiffly, and watched as Astrid huffed before storming out of the room. Babette lingered at the doorway, waiting for the nord woman to create some distance before turning to face the two left in the room.

“Keeper.” she nodded at Cicero. Her golden vampiric eyes drifted to Severia, and a small smile exposed one of her dainty fangs. “Listener.”

And with that, the small vampire removed herself from the Night Mother’s chamber.

Severia and Cicero were the only ones left, and she knew he was upset with the tone Astrid had used with his Listener. His hand flexed at the hilt of his blade, and his amber eyes were still glued to the double doors they nord had left through.

“Cicero…” she’d started, causing the jester to perk up with obvious attention, all tension gone. Severia stared down at the floor, needing to ask but not wanting to.

“What can you teach me about the Old Ways?”

 

***

 

Chapter Bloopers:

 

There, she could feel it.

“Speak to me,” she insisted. “I know you can.”

She waited, her palms sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy. Vomit on her tunic already. Nazir's spaghetti.

 

I'm sorry. I'll leave now.


	10. Chapter Nine

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

_Chapter Nine_

 

The night Severia was appointed Listener, she sought out as many answers as she could to her newfound “religion”. And the man who had all of the answers to her questions was in fact the mildly unstable imperial jester of the Dark Brotherhood.

Cicero had wasted no time in assembling many timeworn documents from his quarters, bringing them and assorting them meticulously across the smooth stone floor of the Night Mother’s chamber. Severia watched as he whistled and giggled to himself, the absolute glee emanating off of the man quite tangible.

She felt odd as she waited for her lesson to begin. She should’ve been furious. Agitated. At the very least, _bothered_. But her mind was clear and her heart was unperturbed, and the usual humming and chatter of her dark sibling did little to grate on her nerves. He was still odd and she didn’t exactly prefer his presence, but something was different now.

As if a giant weight had been lifted.

Like things were beginning to make sense.

Severia eyed the Night Mother’s ebony coffin from her place on the stone floor, now resealed and hiding their Matron from view. Mother had mentioned her emotional state, however briefly. Severia didn’t feel when exactly it had happened, but something had changed inside her. Things felt… okay. For the first time since she had lost her Enigma in Cheydinhal.

And yet, somehow this still felt different.

“Is the Listener feeling alright?” came the concerned voice of the Keeper. Severia tore her gaze away from the metal casket and locked them onto the amber ones of the jester. He bit his lip nervously, and searched her eyes for any sort of discomfort. However, the only discomfort she’d felt was from that unnerving stare of his.

“I was only thinking.” she said, tearing her eyes away from the imperial man. Something about the way he looked at her made her a little uneasy, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.

“Cicero would love to know what his Listener is thinking. That is, if she doesn’t mind sharing.” when she looked at him again, she felt something tighten in her chest.

For the first time since she’d know the odd little man, he seemed almost sheepish. He had seated himself across from her on the floor, separated by his neat rows of Brotherhood documents. Cicero looked up at her from under scrunched brows, and his shoulders were raised and tense. He worried at his bottom lip still, and every fiber of his being seemed to hang on her very existence.

Severia didn’t know what to think of that. One minute the maniac was teasing her incessantly and holding a knife to her neck, and the next he was practically worshiping the very ground she walked on. She remembered how he had insisted they have their lesson at a proper table instead of on the floor, and Severia had suggested his room, as that would’ve been the only other private room in the sanctuary. He had immediately backpedaled, saying how that would not be “proper” and that the floor in here would work just as well.

When she realized he was still waiting patiently for her to speak, she sighed and looked back to the Night Mother’s casket. She thought her words over only briefly before she spoke. “When you look at the Night Mother...” she’d started, “What is it that you see?”

“Why, Cicero sees his beloved Mother. His purpose, his muse.” the Keeper responded, not missing a beat.

“That isn’t quite what I...” Severia huffed and ran a small hand over her tired face. She was pleased with the answer, of course, as his devotion to Severia’s new beloved mother was unwavering. But perhaps her wording hadn’t been quite right.

Severia stood abruptly, striding over to the Night Mother’s altar. Cicero watch in earnest as she slowly and delicately opened the doors of the Matron’s casket. He didn’t berate her as he had before, but she assumed he wouldn’t allow himself to berate her for much of anything from now on.

“Look at the Night Mother’s body.” the Listener commanded softly. “Tell me what you see.”

Cicero blinked owlishly from his spot on the floor. “Cicero sees…” he hesitated. “a corpse?”

“A shriveled, very dead corpse, yes?” she asked, prodding him for more.

The fool looked quite lost at the questioning, and Severia had to give herself some credit for leaving the chatty jester at a loss for words. “Yes?”

Severia sighed, finally pleased with his answer. She slowly resealed the coffin, allowing her hands to linger on the cool metal longer than necessary. “Does she always look that way to you?”

Cicero stared blankly at his Listener’s tiny form, clad only in her nightclothes, hands pressed gingerly upon his Mother’s coffin. She seemed confused and slightly distraught, and he was at a loss as to what to say to make that go away. His Listener was awaiting an answer, so he muttered a simple “yes.”

As soon as the word fell from his lips, he knew what is was she had been asking. He stared at her, mouth slightly agape, and looked between his Listener and Matron a few times before speaking again.

“You’ve… seen her appear differently?”

Severia didn’t respond, and only shuffled her feet for a moment before letting her hands fall from the casket. As she made her way back to sit across from the red-haired man, words fell again from the jester’s mouth before she had completely settled.

“What does she look like?”

Severia looked up from her spot on the ground, slightly taken aback by the Keeper’s intense gaze. His eyes were wide and his voice had been soft and full of unabashed awe. She noticed then that he looked both young and old, full of life but worn. He was someone who had seen the horrors of the world, but held onto the things he deemed special.

At least, that was the dramatic theory Severia concocted in her mind.

She smiled then, the first natural smile she’d felt in a long time.

“She’s breathtaking.”

Cicero listened in quiet fascination as Severia recounted the image of the Night Mother that had appeared in her mind. She spoke of her delicate, light gray skin, and her deep sanguine eyes. How her hair fell down her back in ebony waves like some kind of thick, inky waterfall. She spoke of her deep, womanly voice. She recalled how soft her hands had been when they caressed her cold cheeks with such a rich warmth that it had lingered, even now.

When she’d finished her description, she leaned back to rest her weight on her palms, reminiscing fondly of the woman she’d seen less than an hour ago. She observed Cicero in the silence, and watched as he slowly gathered his thoughts and shook his head, as if waking from a dream.

When he finally spoke, it sounded strained and tight. “Mother seems… even better than Cicero had imagined. He’s quite jealous of the Listener.”

Severia chuckled at that, pulling the gaze of the Keeper back to her face. “You shouldn’t be. I think you’re her favorite.” Severia cringed slightly at the unpleasant truth. “You’re half of what she talked about.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, she glanced to find the Keeper in a most peculiar state. His shoulders slumped and his jaw had fallen slack. His eyes looked dry and tired, then he blinked and suddenly they were wet.

Panic rushed through Severia at the display. The Night Mother had told her to take care of the fool, not to make him cry.

“A-anyway, I think it’s about time you started your little lesson. It’s awfully late, and I’m pretty exhau-”

“She spoke of humble Cicero?” he interjected. His voice was a soft whisper, spoken as such most likely so his voice didn’t fail him.

Having enough of his emotional displays for one night, she quickly responded with a “That’s, er... confidential.” He seemed disappointed at that, but nodded his head.

“Now,” Severia insisted. “Let’s start this lesson so we can both get some much needed rest.”

 

*

 

Cicero had been quite thorough in his teachings. He made sure she knew of the Dark Brotherhood’s origins, all the known history of the Night Mother and her correlation to Sithis, along with the five tenets. He taught her the duties of the Listener, and how if this had been a proper sanctuary, that she wouldn’t be carrying out contracts personally, much like in his own position. He mentioned the Black Hand, their duties, and the other positions of power within the Dark Brotherhood. For now there was only the two of them, Listener and Keeper, but within time there would be more. Such was the will of the Night Mother and Sithis.

Severia took it all in as best she could, establishing in her mind the differences of the _real_ Brotherhood and what Astrid had going on here. It was no wonder the jester was so distraught with the nord and the sanctuary as a whole. The more he spoke, the more she herself felt her ire build.

All this Listener business and cult management wasn’t exactly what she had signed up for when she decided to track down her Enigma. But if what Cicero said is true, that the Night Mother speaks _only_ to the Listener, then she had been chosen that first night by the well five years ago. And if Cicero had been with the Matron all this time, then there was no doubt that he had been beneath that old well for the entire duration as well.

Severia had most definitely been singing to not one, but two people.

She cradled her head in her hands as she made her way to her initiate’s bed, trying to push that thought away.

Two months ago she was just some thief girl searching for something that may or may not exist in a foreign land. And now she was not only a member of the notorious Dark Brotherhood, but she was supposed to lead it. And with Astrid here, that was going to be one hell of an issue.

Severia didn’t want to lead. Really, she didn’t. She’d never been in charge of anyone. Just having Cicero treat her like some kind of empress had her on edge and uncomfortable. She liked following orders, or better yet, following her own.

But Severia adored the Night Mother. Wanted to do everything in her power to please her. And so the problem didn’t arise from Severia not being able to lead. It was Astrid getting in the way of the Night Mother’s desires.

_That_ was a problem, indeed.

Cicero was on her side, without a doubt. The Night Mother herself had confirmed it. But almost everyone else in this sanctuary was devoted to Astrid. Festus Krex followed the Old Ways, but she wasn’t positive he’d choose some fresh blood girl over a woman her senior in both age and experience. Nazir would almost definitely take Astrid’s side, as would Veezara. Gabriella was hard to read, but she wouldn’t bank on her help. Same went for Babette, but she was even more cryptic in her reasons for being in this sanctuary. From what it sounded like, she’d been in the Brotherhood for a _long_ time. Maybe she could be convinced to go back to the way it was supposed to be. That only left Arnbjorn, but he was completely out of the question.

So that left her and Cicero.

_And the Night Mother_ , her mind supplied.

She didn’t know how to make this situation work out for everyone. Surely Astrid wouldn’t allow her and Cicero to take the Night Mother and start their own sanctuary? No. She was sure Astrid would dispose of any kind of defectors. And, Severia thought with a grimace, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with Cicero for so long. The Night Mother said to take care of him, yes, but that didn’t mean they had to run away together and get a place of their own to call home. That just sounded…

Severia shivered.

Severia could only hope that Astrid would eventually listen. Severia could be Listener and not have any authority. That was fine with her. She was simply a conduit for the words of the Night Mother. Perhaps Astrid could be named Speaker, and then her authority wouldn’t be in question.

Ah, but that still put her second to the Night Mother. She wouldn’t go for that.

And Severia also wasn’t sure she liked the thought of Astrid as Speaker.

The young imperial fell into her bed, not bothering with picking up the furs she’d pushed off of the bed earlier that day.

There was just no way this was going to have a happy ending.

 

*

 

When his lesson came to an end, Cicero bid his Listener goodnight. He was tired, but sad to see her walking away. True to her title, she had been a wonderful student and listener while he slammed as much of the information as he could into her young brain. She listened with rapt interest, nodding here and there to reassure that he still had her attention.

The chamber doors closed with her exit, and he stood in the low light of the Night Mother’s chapel, alone once again.

But the silence wasn’t maddening tonight. Tonight, the jester did not taunt him. No, the words of his precious Listener echoed within his tired skull. The reassurance and confidence that he had performed his duty as Keeper to the tee was such wonderful comfort to his weary soul.

He’d found the Listener.

And it was for that reason that poor Cicero would once again not be getting sleep tonight. Not that he didn’t want it, but because the heathens in this so-called “sanctuary” couldn’t be trusted. He’d waited a solid fifteen minutes before following his lovely Listener, his leather clad feet silent along the stone flooring. When his eyes fell upon her lithe form, chest rising and falling ever so gently, he knew that she had already succumbed to sleep. He slowly approached her bedside, picking up the discarded furs from the floor next to her bed. He set them upon her as gently as he could so as not to wake her, and retreated to the bed right behind hers against the wall. He sat upon it, not bothering to remove his boots.

And so began the Keeper’s night vigil...

It wasn’t until much later, in the late hours of morning that his Listener had stirred. Cicero took that as his signal to fall back to his rooms, retreating before he could be discovered by the independent Siren. She would most likely not enjoy being watched in her sleep, but Cicero assured himself that it was for reasonable cause.

Until the tiny sister took her place as the rightful leader of this sanctuary, everyone else was a potential threat. He had half expected the petulant pretender to slide into the sleeping quarters with dagger in hand, and was slightly disappointed when she didn’t. He would have enjoyed killing the vile harlot.

The only sibling that had showed during the hours his Listener slept had been the un-child. She had ascended the stairs with such grace and silence that he would not have noticed her if he hadn’t been watching said stairs for that particular reason. She stopped as soon as she reached the top, golden vampiric eyes locking onto the Keeper’s intimidating form. After a moment she simply smiled a toothy smile, then descended the stairs back into the kitchen.

His Listener most certainly needed her own room.

He rounded the corner of the sleeping quarters, listening for the telltale signs that the tiny sister had awoken. When she heard her yawn and heard the sound of bare feet making contact with stone, he scuttled away to his own quarters. There, Cicero would finally be able to sleep. And he knew it would be the first restful sleep he’d had since he’d left his little bird.

 

_*_

 

Severia blinked and she was awake.

She stirred tiredly in her initiate’s bed, lifting a hand to pull away a stray curl that had made it’s way into her mouth. The weight of something soft on her arms had her opening her eyes, and she wondered if she’d pulled the covers onto herself in her sleep.

She sat up slowly, allowing the warm furs to settle at her waist. Bleary eyes told her that she was alone in the initiate’s sleeping quarters, though her ears told her that her siblings weren’t far. She could hear the muffled words of people talking quietly in the kitchen below. Severia pulled the heavy covers from her legs and dragged herself out of bed.

She really felt like she hadn’t slept, but the growling in her stomach couldn’t be ignored.

Severia descended the steps slowly, trying and failing to rub the residual bleariness from her vision. By the time she reached the kitchen, Nazir and Veezara had quieted their conversation and locked their eyes on her approaching form.

She knew that they knew, but she wasn’t going to feel uncomfortable in her own home. It wasn’t like she’d done something wrong.

Severia sluggishly carried herself past the observant pair, grabbing a slightly stale sweetroll from it’s place on the counter. Only after taking a few bites and savoring the flavor did she take a seat at the large table across from her two male siblings. It was Veezara who spoke first.

“It seems Astrid has an assignment for us, sister.”

She mentally cringed at the offensive name. “Oh yeah?”

The shadowscale nodded. “Yes. Looks like you, Gabriella and I are to travel to Volunruud to seek out an, er- potential client.”

“To figure out if you’re trying to play us or not.” interjected Nazir, tight expression guarded. “That freaky clown will be kept here under close guard, and if you’re lying then you’ll both be killed for treachery.”

So this was how Astrid was handling the situation. Sending her along with two other experienced Brotherhood assassins, no doubt to kill her on the spot if there was no client. Severia resisted the urge to smirk. And using Cicero as a hostage?

She almost laughed at the thought.

“That’ll be fine.” Severia sighed, taking another bite of her pastry. Now, she did let a bit of her smile slip through. “The client will be there.”

Nazir and Veezara glanced at each other hesitantly. Judging by Cicero’s explanation and the ages of the two in front of her, it’s highly unlikely the two ever worked under a proper Dark Brotherhood hierarchy. Hell, she thought it was crazy too. Or at least she would have if her vision of Mother hadn’t been so vivid and the Keeper so receptive.

The Night Mother was her Enigma. She was what Severia was looking for all along. The being that gave a small, nobody husk of an imperial girl the gift of feeling. Severia didn’t even remember who she was before the Night Mother’s gift. It was like she had only been alive for the last five years. Her childhood seemed like someone else’s life, even though she knew it was her own.

It was odd, but not unpleasant.

“We’ll leave when you’re ready.” Veezara said, standing from his seat at the table. Nazir followed suit. “Dress warmly. According to Astrid, this place is up in some snowy mountains.”

Severia grumbled. Of course it was. She hated snow.

After the other two dark siblings left the room, Severia allowed her head to slump forward to rest against the table.

The sooner she cleared up that she was actually the Listener, the better. If everyone was going to stare at her with disapproving eyes or walk on eggshells, then she was glad they were leaving today. Veezara was too polite to call her a traitor outright like Astrid or Nazir, but she didn’t want the whole trip to this crypt to be uneasy and awkward. She hoped Gabriella could behave normally.

Severia didn’t mind the negative treatment, really. It didn’t get to her too much. However, the disrespect towards her position meant disrespect to the Night Mother. And if these Brotherhood siblings claimed to be children of Sithis, then respect her words they would.

At least there was the Keeper.

“You seem awfully tired this morning, Listener.”

Severia jumped up, fearing that her thoughts had summoned the fool into her presence. However, standing across the table and staring down at her exhausted form was a smiling Babette.

“Yes, I… didn’t sleep very well.” Severia cleared her throat quietly.

Severia had trouble discerning the intentions of the three-hundred year old vampire child. She had been there last night when Astrid and Cicero almost went at each other, and had helped in splitting up the fight.

Not to mention this was the second time the girl had acknowledged her position of Listener. Surely she wasn’t being sarcastic with her?

“No?” she asked with exaggerated curiosity, a mischievous grin threatening to pull at her lips. “Perhaps our Siren felt like she was being… watched?”

Severia immediately tensed. “What do you mean by-”

“Oh, please don’t feel threatened, Listener. I mean you no harm.” Babette lifted both hands in a peaceful gesture, smiling somewhat apologetically. “When I say watched, what I mean is… overseen. Guarded. _Supervised_.”

The imperial scrunched her brows in confusion, replaying the vampire’s words again in her head. Amused with the human’s disarray, she clarified.

“What I’m saying is that the Keeper may be keeping more than just the Night Mother from now on.”

Reality dawned slowly on Severia, pulling her lips down into a more defined frown. The fool had been watching over her like some _child_ to be protected? Even Vaudina hadn’t watched the younger imperial while she slept, and she’d been the definition of “overprotective”.

“Even I can say that tensions in the Sanctuary are high right now.” Babette spoke, interrupting the Listener’s thoughts. “I wouldn’t be too angry with him. All the idiot could speak of was finding a Listener since he’s arrived. And poof- here you are. It seems you are his life’s purpose, dear Siren.”

Severia remained silent while the vampire confirmed some of her own theories. Yes, the fool did seem to worship her now. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but she’d accept it as long as he put Mother first.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

A genuine smile crossed the vampire’s face for the first time that morning, revealing a set of pointed canines. “In my three hundred years of undeath, I’ve been with the Brotherhood for half of that time.” Babette dusted off some invisible debris from her dress, and moved to slowly walk around the large table to seat herself next to the Listener, a tad too close for the imperial’s comfort. She didn’t move away, however, when the vampire moved her face closer to her own.

Babette’s expression became serious, old and wise golden eyes betraying her youthful visage. When she spoke, it was so quiet that Severia almost didn’t catch it all. “I haven’t stayed alive this long by reaching for power that isn’t mine or from following the people who do so. I like Astrid, and she’s done well keeping the Brotherhood from extinction in Skyrim. We had to adapt. It was necessary.”

Severia listened intently, unperturbed with being inches away from a set of very deadly fangs.

“I’m not stupid enough to invoke the wrath of Sithis. Nor would I want to.” With that, Babette leaned back, childlike demeanor back in place as quickly as it had left. She grinned widely and stood up, heading for the staircase that led into the initiate's quarter’s. “Have a safe trip, Listener. I’ll be keeping an eye on your Keeper.” The breton flashed a saucy wink at the imperial before ascending the wooden stairs.

Severia sat in a stunned silence, now fully awake. As cryptic as ever, Babette had somewhat pledged her assistance to the Night Mother. She was pleased with that. Having an ancient vampire on their side would surely make things easier.

Her brow furrowed, recalling the last bit of information the smaller girl had given.

Her Keeper? He wasn’t her _anything_. Ally, perhaps, but that was only because the Night Mother herself had declared it so.

But at least the vampire would keep the fool safe.


	11. Chapter Ten

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

_Chapter Ten_

 

After a brief trip to her room to wash her face, change, and gather supplies, Severia met the two waiting dark siblings in the large lobby of the sanctuary. She hoisted her small pack up into a more secure place on her back and pushed the large hood off of her face to address the pair.

“Have you two been waiting long?” she’d asked, not really caring too much about the answer. She’d gotten ready in less than an hour, and she wasn’t too eager to go on a trip with two siblings who may or may not think she was a traitor.

Gabriella shot her a particularly bright smile, waving her hand dismissively. “Only a few moments, sister.” She turned to address Veezara. “Are we all set?”

The shadowscale nodded, and the three made their way out the front door without passing any other members. Severia had half expected to see Astrid leaning against her place on the wall to taunt her before she left, but the nord woman was nowhere to be seen. It seemed that no one was going to see the trio off, not that she had expected or wished as much.

They walked silently, the fifteen minute trek into Falkreath slightly less awkward than Severia imagined it would be. It didn’t seem like the two wanted to make much small talk, and she was secretly grateful for that. She was only mildly surprised when Gabriella led them straight to the carriage driver, paying for their transport to the city of Whiterun. She surmised traveling in a small group made them less conspicuous, and as none of them were in their trademark red and black armor she suspected that they seemed normal enough.

Only when they had boarded the carriage and were a good hour on the road did one of her siblings finally speak.

“To be quite frank, I’m really hoping he’s there.” said Gabriella, good-natured smirk in place. Veezara blinked and looked over at her with a blank stare as if wondering why the dunmer had to open her mouth at every inappropriate moment. Was she _trying_ to put more strain on the three? She only huffed at the judging look, shaking her head nonchalantly. “Don’t be like that, Veezara. We all know why we’re here. There’s no need to beat around the bush.”

Severia didn’t know if she wanted to crawl into a hole to avoid conversation, or if she was refreshed by Gabriella’s blunt attitude. She supposed it was a mixture of both.

Veezara was looking particularly uncomfortable, so Severia reluctantly spoke up for his sake. “It’s alright. I know I’m not trusted, and you have every right to be wary.” She looked away from the two to gaze out at the serene sight of Lake Ilinalta. The water did look awfully pretty in the early light. “I wouldn’t purposely do anything detrimental to the...family,” she finished lamely, remembering the presence of their carriage driver. “I don’t want to start trouble. But I suppose you’ll just have to wait and confirm it for yourself. I understand.”

Severia heard the shifting of the two assassins in their seats across from her. She wondered briefly if she’d said the right thing. Talking to people was so _hard_.

“We want to believe, sister.” It was Veezara who spoke this time. “We’re hoping.”

The young imperial let a small smile grace her features. That was the best she could ask for at the moment.

The rest of the trip was spent in a more comfortable silence. Veezara closed his eyes and seemed to drift in and out of a fitful sleep. Gabriella pulled a leather-bound tome from her satchel, studying the contents intently while mumbling lists of alchemical ingredients to herself.

It would probably be another three hours before they passed through Riverwood, and then another three before they reached Whiterun. Severia spent a good chunk of her time wracking her tired brain for some kind of solution to the whole Astrid issue.

It was exhausting, really. If Gabriella and Veezara were at least wanting to be receptive to the idea of her being the Listener, then there really was hope for the sanctuary. Babette would almost definitely take the Night Mother’s side, and Festus seemed like someone who could be convinced once her position was verified. She didn’t have much hope for Nazir, however, and Arnbjorn would go where Astrid did.

So that only left Astrid as her one true adversary in this predicament.

She stumbled through ideas of co-leading with her, putting it to a vote, or just outright getting rid of her. None of those seemed like ideal situations and it pissed her off that she couldn’t solve this. Severia had always been the calm and calculating type. As long as she took some time and thought about all of the scenarios, she could eventually choose the one with a higher pro to con ratio.

But the more she grumbled over the problem, the more she started to accept that this wouldn’t be pretty. It would take every sibling in that sanctuary to turn on her leadership to have a chance at changing things peacefully, and she knew that wouldn’t happen.

Chances were, she’d bait Cicero or herself with her insufferable blasphemy and they’d try to kill her. That could cause a miniature civil war among the remaining Brotherhood siblings.

By Sithis, if only the bitch wasn’t so uptight and paranoid, this wouldn’t have to be so damn complicated. She wondered why Mother had chosen someone as untalented in the ways of diplomacy as herself to reform the Dark Brotherhood.

Severia threw back her thick wool hood, pushing a small hand through her untamed curls with a groan. Gabriella glanced up briefly from her tome, smirking at the younger sibling’s inner turmoil.

A deep rumble in the distance drew the two female assassin’s attention, and they stared off into the direction it had come from. Thunder coming from the east? They might have to postpone their trip in Riverwood until the storm settled. Hopefully they could beat it there before the rain started to fall.

Another rumble echoed throughout the bright blue skies, and Severia thought it odd that there wasn’t a single rain cloud in sight.

“Do you see that?” It was Veezara that spoke, wide awake and alert and pointing to something in the distance.

She and Gabriella followed the argonian’s gaze, squinting against the bright sky. A dark shadow was making it’s way towards them at an alarming pace, and with another screech it became apparent that it wasn’t exactly thunder that they’d heard.

“That’s a dragon,” blurted Gabriella. “That’s a fucking dragon.”

And it was coming straight toward them.

Severia jumped to her feet, managing to balance herself easily on the still-moving carriage. Veezara called out to the carriage driver, letting him in on their discovery.

 _Dragons_? Severia wasn’t told that there were _dragons_ in Skyrim. That was… _ridiculous_.

Almost as ridiculous as a dead woman talking to her via telepathy.

“We need to get off the road.” insisted the tiny assassin. She shouted at the nervous driver from her position on the back cart. “You need to pull over! We can’t outrun that thing on this. We need to hide! Leave the horse!” Veezara and Gabriella jumped off the moving cart, and Severia wasted no time in following them. She stumbled slightly on the dirt road, but her heart thumping loudly against her chest had her recovering quickly and running after her dark siblings. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding the big green and scaly beast dangerously close to the cart driver. It roared loudly, causing the driver to lose the grip on his reins and the horse to spook into a gallop. The man held onto the wagon for dear life, screaming as the horse turned too sharply and flipped the wagon onto it’s side.

Before the man could pull himself from the ground, his entire carriage was enveloped in a blistering red flame, the dragon grounding itself and causing the earth around them to shudder.

“Go, go go, go!” shouted Gabriella at her companions, breaking into a sprint. “Fucking _go_!”

Veezara and Severia followed at an equally neck-breaking pace, pushing through thorns and foliage to conceal themselves in the nearby woods.

Severia was named Listener and then immediately killed by a fucking _dragon_? _Nuh-uh_ , that’s not how this shit was gonna pan out. She chanced a glance back over her shoulder, praying that the beast had been caught up in it’s recent prey.

It wasn’t there anymore. Where the hell _was_ it?

The sun disappeared and she broke out into a second round of cold-sweats.

She glanced up, jaw to the ground, right before the dragon above them opened it’s mouth to shoot out more of it’s catastrophic flame. She was pulled roughly by the arm and was flung to the ground behind a large stone just as the scorching fire would’ve consumed her. Veezara quickly helped her up as quickly as he’d thrown her down, ready to take off again. And where was Gabriella?

Shit, this was too much to handle this early in the morning.

There in the distance, she saw Gabriella, furiously pushing out golden healing magic onto a sprained ankle.

And so did the rancorous beast.

As if forgetting two people had hidden behind a rock right in front of it, it began to beat it’s massive leathery wings until it’s clawed feet came off the ground.

Everything in Severia said to let it happen.

Everything in her screamed self-preservation. She should use this opportunity to get away. It was possible survival or possible death.

Think, Severia, fucking _think_.

She looked to Veezara for some kind of affirmation to either plan, but he simply watched in stunned horror as the over sized reptile moved it’s heavy form through the air towards their comrade.

Guess that meant a shadowscale’s extensive training didn’t cover dragons.

The seconds ticked by in slow motion. What should she do? What would their success rate be? She didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation this dire. She needed to act- needed to act _now_ -

“Fuck!” she grumbled, slamming her head into her palm, trying to force her brain to work. “Gah.. _Veezara_!” She pulled him down by the arm, forcefully pulling his gaze to hers and forcing him to listen.

“Get Gabriella out of here!”

With that, she gave him a terrified half-smile before sprinting headlong into the multi-ton monster’s line of sight. Veezara shouted after her, but she was deaf to everything but the wind around her.

“Come and get me, you fucking lizard!” shouted the imperial girl, blood pounding so hard in her ears that she couldn’t hear her own voice. She pulled her ordinary steel dagger from its place at her waist, skidding to a stop and aiming the weapon as best as she could with such little time.

Everything she was doing went against who she was. The tiny, cursed imperial child from Cheydinhal wasn’t some kind of hero.

_Severia would have run. Severia would have saved herself._

With quick and careful aim, the young assassin sent her blade whizzing through the air until it found it’s mark in the back of the huge thing’s neck. With a painful shriek, it dropped to the ground and shook its head around carelessly trying to dislodge the weapon. She could’ve cried in relief.

Severia would have run.

But the Listener had to fight for her family.

The Listener would make her Mother proud.

As soon as the beast turned to find it’s attacker, The tiny assassin flew into another adrenaline-fueled sprint north, away from both Veezara and the wounded Gabriella.

She heard the beast stumbling loudly, roaring out it’s pain in it’s attempt to catch up with her. She managed to stay ahead, as the beast was much slower on ground that it was on land. When Lake Ilinalta came into view, her legs were burning so badly that she didn’t know how she was still moving. She was almost to the water’s edge when the dragon broke through the treeline, slowly, and angrily, scurrying after her. It’s massive claws tore at the earth below it, rooting up massive clumps of dirt that were becoming soft with a mixture of blood and saliva falling from it’s wounded and tired form.

Severia didn’t hesitate before jumping into the water, praying to Sithis and the Night Mother that she wouldn’t drown.

 

*

 

Cicero woke from his peaceful sleep with a sluggish yawn and stretch.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of an ungloved hand, stomach grumbling for sustenance. Perhaps he would be lucky and find some nice and sticky sweetrolls in the kitchen.

He was quiet as he washed and dressed himself for once. The jester’s mind was silent and empty, and not in an unpleasant way. He was unusually well-rested, and he assumed that his newfound peace had a lot to do with the appearance of a new Listener.

Cicero made his way to the sanctuary’s kitchen, wondering idly how long he’d been asleep. It was awfully quiet, and he was momentarily caught off guard when the un-child appeared seemingly out of thin air as he descended the stairs.

“Good evening, Keeper.” she had greeted him, toothy grin in place as always. Cicero still didn’t quite know what to make of the ancient vampire, but she addressed him with all the proper respect his title deserved. That was enough to please him for now.

“Evening?” Cicero let out and over-exaggerated gasp. “How long has poor Cicero been asleep?”

The small breton pretended to mull over his question for a moment before speaking. “Oh, well through the night and most of the day. Our precious Listener has already departed with our siblings.”

The Keeper had gasped for real at that. “Whaaat?” he questioned, bouncing up in down in a frantic hop. “Why didn’t the Listener wake humble Cicero? Who is she with? WHY WASN’T CICERO INFORMED?”

The un-child had the audacity to giggle at poor Cicero’s distress. “You were there when it was suggested that Siren would leave, accompanied by a sibling, to Volunruud. There was no reason to wake you, Keeper. You are technically a hostage, you know.”

Cicero stood straight up and huffed. “The _Keeper_ is no hostage,” he spoke his title with a sense of superiority. “The only sister with the authority to keep Cicero hostage would be the Listener herself.” he grumbled as he made his way to the food cupboard, fishing around in it for something sticky and sweet. “Humble Cicero couldn’t leave if he wanted to,” he mumbled more to himself than the un-child. “The Keeper must tend to Mother, you see.” After finding what it was he’d been searching for, the Keeper pulled a wrapped, albeit stale sweetroll from the back shelf with a victory squeal.

As the Keeper stuffed his face, he missed the mischievous grin that pulled it’s way across the vampire’s lips. “Oh? The Keeper must remain here, you say?”

“Thafs righ.” Cicero said between bites.

“Even if his Listener might be in danger?”

The little imperial man stopped mid chew and whipped around to shoot a glare at the tiny breton. “Ihn Daynther?” came out another sweetroll-filled question. Cicero swallowed his mouthful of pastry before speaking again. “The Listener will only be in harm’s way if there is no client. But because our little Siren _is_ the Listener, there will be a client. Therefore, she will be _fine_.”

Babette was a little shocked to say the least. She had expected more of a reaction out of him. Or at least some kind of displeasure. Didn’t this fool worship the ground their dark sister walked on? “It doesn’t bother you that the two she’s with may turn on her?”

Cicero thought for a moment, tapping his chin with slightly sticky, gloved fingers. “Who is the Listener with?”

“Gabriella and Veezara.”

“Ah, the dunmer and argonian. Yes, those two seem honorable enough to wait for our sweet Listener to prove herself before attacking. And prove herself she shall. Cicero has the utmost faith in our little Siren!” He followed up the statement with a strained giggle, and only then did Babette notice that he did seem a little tense as he spoke.

Even as he went back to eating his frosted treat, the ancient breton girl concluded that, yes, the fool was worried about their Listener. She almost felt bad for trying to bait him. He obviously knew what was at stake during this little trip of theirs, and it would be a major deciding factor for how things were going to be after this.

If he seemed outwardly nervous, that would make it seem like he doubted that his “Listener” would succeed. He spent years looking for the Listener, and for her to leave the morning after finding her on a potential life-threatening mission? She couldn’t blame him for being nervous.

Acting nonchalant about the whole thing was all he could do right now.

Maybe the fool wasn’t as much of a fool as he made himself out to be.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

_Chapter Eleven_

“ _Siren_? Siren, are you alright? By Sithis, Veezara, this is all my fault. If only I’d-”

“This is no one’s fault, Gab. A dragon wasn’t exactly part of the forecast for today.”

Severia could feel some kind of energy seeping into her bones through the darkness, warm and light. It was extremely soft, like a wolf pup’s fur, and cool like fresh spearmint.

“We should be lucky the way things happened they way they did. If not, one or more of us would certainly be dead.” came Veezara’s soothing voice again. She could hear the dunmer’s whimper in response, and she almost wanted to laugh.

Her sister was so upset about… something? What had happened again?

Did Veezara say _dragon_?

Severia twitched as a glowing light shone through the field of black. She could sense her physical surroundings a bit more clearly now. She was laying on something soft, probably _actual_ wolf’s fur, and she could hear the sound of a crackling fire somewhere to her left.

“Veezara, I think she’s coming to!” relief dripped from the words the mage spoke, and Severia had to wonder when the last time someone had sounded so pleased to know she was okay.

Since Vaudina, at least.

When the imperial managed to separate her eyelids from each other, she grumbled from the effort and the little bit of light that strained them. She focused on the dark face and red eyes that looked down at her with obvious concern, and she tried not to be unnerved by it.

“What happened…?” she asked, slowly bringing a hand up to rub at her throbbing temple. A quick glance to her left revealed that the nice cooling sensation was Gabriella filling her small body with the healing light of restoration magic.

“You stabbed a dragon then jumped in a lake, you fucking loon.” came the blunt description from the dunmer woman. She winced at the harsh words and turned to find Veezara looking at her with an expression matching Gabriella’s.

“You also managed to get all of us out of there alive.” came his more grateful response. He gave Gabriella a stern look, and the other woman almost looked like she was about to cry.

“It was awfully stupid,” the mage insisted.

“That too.” the argonian softly agreed.

So… all the dragon stuff had actually happened. Severia, the self-centered thief from Cheydinhal had actually put herself in harm’s way for a comrade.

What the fuck had the Night Mother done to her insides…?

“W-Wait-” Severia sputtered, suddenly remembering the incident with striking clarity. “The dragon, did it-”

“Flew away to lick it’s wounds, I’d imagine.” interrupted Veezara. “It was stomping around in that lake for a good ten minutes before giving up. We were almost certain you’d been stepped on and killed.”

The dunmer nodded in solemn agreement before letting a sly smile split her gray face. “Thankfully, we had an argonian in our midst.” she said, giving said shadowscale a sharp pat on the back. “Excellent swimmers and all that jazz. He found you and got you out, but by that point you’d already passed out and swallowed a bunch of water.”

Severia took in the information, trying to remember anything after jumping face-first into the Ilinalta. Everything had just gone black afterwards.

“Anything for a sister.” came the argonian’s humble assurance.

Something in the Listener warmed at that.

“But you two should get some rest.” he continued, pulling himself from the grassy floor to stand. “You were both injured today, and we still have a journey ahead of us. We’ll leave at first light. I’ll take watch.”

Before either woman could object, the shadowscale had disappeared into the night, no doubt scouting the perimeter of their makeshift camp.

Gabriella had sighed dramatically, pulling one of the animal furs tighter over her shoulders. Severia noticed that the woman had arranged her sleeping blankets unusually close to the imperial’s, but she supposed she could let it slide this once. They _had_ fended off a mythical beast together earlier that day, and perhaps the somewhat softer dark elf needed the comfort of proximity.

“Your ankle...” started Severia. “Is it alright?”

Gabriella smiled at the show of concern. “Yes, it’s only a sprain. I’ve done what I can to improve it, but it’ll still be tender for a few days. Magic can only do so much.”

Severia nodded her agreement, and the two fell into another spell of silence. The curly-haired sister watched the crackling of their campfire, remembering how only hours earlier the dragon’s own fire had nearly consumed her. It was Veezara that had saved her then. Then he’d saved her once more by pulling her out of the lake. And then it was Gabriella who’d resuscitated her unresponsive body with her restoration magic.

It seemed they’d all saved each other’s life at some point this day.

And perhaps that was what family was supposed to be.

Time passed in comfortable silence, and Severia noticed that her dark sister had not chosen to lay down in an attempt to sleep. While she was sure everyone had a lot on their mind after a day like theirs. Veezara had opted to take watch, and resting for a day of travel seemed the be the smarter route. Thinking could wait until tomorrow.

“Are you not tired?” inquired the smaller woman with a slight groan, pulling her tired body up into a seating position. “Afraid of the dragons?” she threw out, attempting to joke with the older sibling.

If the dunmer thought her comrade shouldn’t be straining her newly recovered body, she didn’t voice it. “Ah, not really. I have trouble getting to sleep most nights anyway.”

“Ah.” said Severia simply. And here was where conversation with the family usually stopped. One didn’t simply ask about things that could so easily travel down a personal route. First it was _“Why do you have trouble sleeping?”_ and then it became _“Well, you see, I have this troubled past...”_

And that was what everyone tried to avoid.

But that apparently didn’t apply to _this_ dunmer and _this_ night.

“It’s the silence.” she’d said, hugging her knees to her chest. “I know, funny right? An assassin who doesn’t like the quiet?”

Severia simply stared blankly at the other woman.

Shit, was she trying to confide in her? Was this the dreaded _girl talk_? When Severia joined the Dark Brotherhood, she assumed that meant opting out of most social norms, especially the ones applying to women.

“Um. I don’t think it’s weird.” replied the imperial lamely. What does one say at a time like this? “Quiet and killing have virtually no correlation.”

“No? Ha, well I’ve never heard it explained that way.”

“It’s a matter of looking at things without bias.”

The dunmer chuckled heartily at that. “Do you always look at things so analytically?”

Severia hesitated, wondering if she’d said something wrong. “Yes?”

Gabriella giggled once more before fixing her sister with a gentle, yet serious look. “It’s a shame, kind of. You’re so young.”

What? A shame? Honestly, Severia had been expecting a compliment on her mature outlook at her age. Why would it be considered a bad thing?

“ _Siren_.” Gabriella drawled out the moniker. “Do you sing?”

“Huh?”

“Do you sing?” she persisted. “I know we’ve teased you about it before, but I’m serious this time.”

She supposed there was no point in lying. “Sometimes.”

“Would you sing me a song?”

Oh.

Perhaps there would’ve been a point in lying.

“A… song?” For a grown-ass woman? For a feared assassin of the Dark Brotherhood? This dangerous and notorious villain was asking their co-worker for a _lullaby_?

Gabriella locked Severia’s chocolate gaze down with her own sanguine stare. There was something pleading and grateful, and everything in between in that stare. And it almost made the Listener feel guilty for considering turning down her simple request.

By Sithis, they almost died today. The woman felt grateful towards her for practically saving her life, and she wants a song to help her sleep.

What kind of Listener would she be if she didn’t listen to the problems of her family?

And so the brunette humored her vulnerable sister, and whipped out a Cyrodillic lullaby that the Vicharelli family nanny had sung to her on occasion.

The hums and notes that erupted from the imperial’s mouth knocked the dunmer off her already near-defenseless guard. She watched as the Listener gazed into the fire, becoming someone more than just another Dark Brotherhood assassin. She smiled, laying herself down on the soft furs and closing her eyes.

In her eyes, the little brunette imperial had truly become her sister.

Severia looped the tune a few times until she was sure the elf was asleep. It hadn’t taken long, but Severia had kept singing anyway. It had been much too long since she’d exercised her voice, and she really had to take advantage of it while the Keeper wasn’t around.

The Listener had also continued for someone else’s benefit, as the shadowy figure of the well-hidden argonian behind the treeline had moved closer to the camp when her song began.

She didn’t normally like an audience.

She didn’t normally care for showing any kind of compassion for _anyone_.

But tonight she would be their comrade.

Tonight she would be their sister.

 

*

 

It had taken the three assassins roughly twice the time to reach Riverwood as it would’ve if they hadn’t lost the carriage. Traveling on foot was bad enough, but with Gabriella’s sprain and Severia’s downright exhaustion, the trip was a struggle.

They entered the town without attracting any attention from the guards and tiredly made their way to the Sleeping Giant Inn. While the women made themselves comfortable at one of the wooden benches by the hearth, Veezara took it upon himself to purchase lodging and meals for the evening from the man at the front desk. Within minutes, he was back with three bottles of mead in arms.

“They’ve only got one room for tonight, so we’ll have to make due.” he said, handing the girls each their own bottle of alcohol. “Food should be over in a minute, too.”

The two nodded their understanding, popping the corks from their respective bottles. Severia still wasn’t very fond of the sweet and frothy stuff, but after the past couple days they had, she really needed the pick-me-up. After downing half her bottle in one go, Gabriella turned to her imperial comrade while wiping the foam from her mouth.

“You and I can sleep in shifts tonight so that we can give our brother some well deserved rest. Poor Veezara has been up since yesterday.” she smiled tiredly, eyeing her argonian friend, who looked equally as exhausted. “I’ll head over to the trader in the morning for some medicine before we catch the carriage to Whiterun. From there we’ll have to travel on foot, so we’d best be as prepared as can be.”

Severia nodded as she gazed into the large fire pit. She would’ve suggested the same course of action herself. The sooner they got to Volunruud, the sooner she could complete the contract for Mother. And hopefully after that, she could find some way to set the sanctuary right.

Veezara looked up at the approaching woman balancing three wooden plates filled with meats and veggies and stepped to the side so she could place them on the table. Gabriella turned to her food and started eating almost immediately. Severia continued sipping out of her mead bottle, lost in her own thoughts.

“What do you think you’re doing sitting around here? You’re supposed to be-” the unknown voice was cut off with a sharp cry of pain, and Severia shot her gaze up to find Veezara had grabbed the waitress’s wrist awfully close to the imperial’s own face. A slight glance to her left also showed that Gabriella had stopped eating and was readying some kind of glowing magic in both hands.

“What’s your problem? Let go!” shouted the waitress. Severia observed as Veezara shoved the woman back with little force. Just enough to get her out of their personal space.

“Is there a reason you were trying to grab our friend here?” questioned Gabriella, red eyes narrowing dangerously at the inn worker.

The woman had tried to grab Severia? She’d been so lost in her own mind that she hadn’t even noticed. But it seemed that her two dark siblings hadn’t let their guard down for a moment.

The waitress, a tall and blonde nord woman, sneered at the elf and rubbed at her sore wrist. She whipped her blue gaze back to the imperial girl, bending down ever so slightly as to try and see past the black hood covering Severia’s face.

Said imperial met the offending woman’s gaze head on, as if daring her to try it again.

And with two experienced assassins flanking her sides and ready to strike, she had to admit they made an awfully intimidating sight.

“What seems to be the problem over here?” the male nord that had been working the front desk stepped up to the group, eyeing the trio warily. “Are these ruffians giving you trouble, Delphine?”

“No, I...” the blonde hesitated, casting one more scrutinizing gaze at the young imperial. “I must have mistaken you for someone else. My apologies.”

All three assassins noted that the nord woman’s tone was anything but apologetic. However, they didn’t say anything else for risk of being tossed out of the only inn in a twenty mile radius.

When the woman called Delphine excused herself, the male worker eyed them up and down with a glare, warning them that if they caused another scene like that they’d be asked to leave. Veezara apologized for the disturbance before Gabriella could tell the man to piss off.

After the two had walked away, both dark siblings turned to Severia with questioning gazes.

“Never met her before in my life.” shrugged the imperial. She made a point of remembering faces. The more faces she knew, the easier it was to stay out of trouble.

It seemed that her two companions took her explanation easily, and both sat and returned to the meals at their table. Severia tugged gently at her hood, wondering not for the first time if it made her seem more suspicious than she was.

Something between her dark siblings and herself had changed. It definitely didn’t go unnoticed how quickly they had rushed to her defense, and how they didn’t even question her about it until the threat was gone. And even then, they took her one sentence explanation without any qualms.

Gee, if only Vaudina could’ve been like that growing up.

To build a trust like this, had it really only taken one battle and a song? Perhaps building relationships with her siblings wasn’t nearly as difficult as she’d initially suspected.

By the time Severia turned to begin eating her meal, it had already grown cold.

 

*

 

The three left Riverwood early the next morning, and reached Whiterun by noon. Veezara took it upon himself to enter Whiterun very briefly to restock on food supplies before they left for Volunruud on foot.

Veezara led the way, being the only one who knew where the old ruin was. The trio cut straight through the fields of Whiterun hold, slaying around five wolves along their way. It was the first time Severia had seen her siblings in actual battle, so it was almost surprising to find Gabriella finally use the composite bow she kept strapped to her back. It seemed her dunmer sister was a jack of all trades.

Veezara was quick and nimble, wielding his daggers like an extension of his hands. Watching the way he moved, the way she would blink and his enemy would be dead, she really noticed how inexperienced she was herself. And not for the first time, she was grateful he was on her side.

The sun had begun to set by the time the shadowscale announced that they were close. Severia didn’t see it until they were right up on it- a large _hole_ in the ground. The dwemer ruin she had entered before had been absurdly large and ornate, and impossible to miss.

She supposed she should’ve expected the simple nords to have simple ruins. A hole in the ground seemed quite appropriate.

The three readied themselves before pushing the heavy metal door open. It creaked loudly, much to everyone’s displeasure. They waited at the entrance, door wide open, for a solid ten minutes before deeming it safe to proceed. Severia’s two allies wasted no time staring warily at the skeleton seated in some ornate chair as soon as they entered, but the imperial found it fascinating.

How odd that the pile of bone used to be alive.

Within minutes, the three had crept their way into a main chamber that split off into four directions. Gabriella immediately went to the room straight ahead of them, assuming their man would be waiting in the big important place that must be hidden behind the giant ornate doors. To her obvious displeasure, they were locked and required some special key to open.

Would their guy in question really go through so much just to meet up with a hitman? Severia voiced her thoughts to the argonian who lingered beside her.

He shook his head, agreeing with her.

“There’s some natural light coming from that pathway over there.” the argonian pointed to the leftmost doorway. “Chances are that’s a separate, closed off chamber.”

Gabriella made her way back to the group, and the two women followed him into the path in question. It took only a moment before they came upon another metal door. Veezara hesitated momentarily before stepping aside to address the tiny imperial.

“After you.” he said, gesturing for her to step ahead of him.

Severia knew that one night didn’t divest her of all suspicion. She’d actually be somewhat disappointed if it had.

“Of course.” she responded politely, walking ahead and leaving her two companions at her back.

The contact was here.

The Night Mother would not lead her astray.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**The Keeper’s Lullaby**

 

_Chapter Twelve_

 

The three assassins exited the nord ruin swiftly and quietly. It wasn’t until they were up the stairs and making their way back towards Whiterun did someone speak.

“He wants us to kill the emperor.” Gabriella stated, almost numbly. “The _emperor_.”

Veezara nodded, taking it much better than the dunmer. He seemed lost in thought, and his usual strong and steady pace slowed to a walk.

“But… isn’t he in Cyrodiil? Will Astrid send someone to Cyrodiil for this? Do we even have enough people for something this large scale?” Gabriella began mumbling to herself, coming to a complete stop.

Severia looked between the two with smug excitement. Of course the contract would be something this grand. The Night Mother said the Dark Brotherhood would rise again. What better way to do that than to kill someone like the _emperor_?

“It also means that you really are the Listener.” said Veezara, gazing at the tiny imperial woman in front of him. His eyes shifted in frantic thought. “This is bad.”

“Bad? Why would this be _bad_ , Veezara? The Night Mother has _returned_.” Gabriella perked up almost immediately. “She has chosen a _Listener_! Do you know what this could mean for the Brotherhood?”

“It means that Astrid’s authority is in question.” He pointed out, causing the elf to pause in her excitement. The argonian took a step towards Severia. “How do plan on proceeding, Listener?”

She should’ve expected Veezara’s underwhelming reaction to her truly being the Listener. He was in this for Astrid and the job. He didn’t sign up for a religion.

She had to be careful with what she said next. Veezara was loyal to Astrid and everyone knew it. However, she was the Listener, and now that the Night Mother was in the picture, the tenets must be followed or else one risks the Wrath of Sithis. He wouldn’t kill her, Severia knew. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to stop her if she planned to do anything to damage Astrid’s reputation or person.

Severia wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“I don’t have a plan.” she answered honestly. “I will do whatever it is the Night Mother demands of me, but she has made no demands in regards to the sanctuary. I don’t want to cause a rift, but...”

“But if the Night Mother told you to dispose of Astrid, you would?” came Gabriella’s voice, having snapped out of her initial shock.

The tiny imperial hesitated under the scrutinizing gaze of her two dark siblings. “Yes. But I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The dunmer and argonian traded heavy looks.

“I don’t want to squabble over power.” Severia stood as tall as she could, chin up. “The Dark Brotherhood is better than that. We’ll find a way.”

The other two locked her down with those same loaded stares, and then -in an instant- the tension was gone.

“Well said, Listener.” came Veezara’s smooth voice. Gabriella nodded her agreement.

Severia’s relationship with her two siblings seemed to be fluctuating undesirably since the beginning of their little journey. But if she was back on comfortable terms with the two, then perhaps things were one step closer to working out for the better.

 

*

 

It was two days after his Listener left that Cicero noticed the pretender had left the sanctuary as well. The redguard watched the Keeper closely from a distance, and was more often than not found in the central lobby of their underground sanctuary.

Blocking the exit, perhaps? Cicero thought it ridiculous.

As if he’d leave Mother unprotected.

The un-child would pop up more and more often, as if simply checking on the jester’s well-being. But Cicero knew that she was also told to watch over him.

On one of these particular evenings, almost a week since his Listener left, the vampire found her way into the Night Mother’s chapel while Cicero had been cleaning. She observed him quietly as Cicero began humming to himself, sweeping away debris and polishing the stone walls to a smooth finish. When Cicero could no longer stand her quiet scrutiny, he turned to her with his signature grin and narrowed eyes.

“Is the un-child finding herself bored now that all of her buddies have gone? Missing the harlot, are we?”

Instead of taking his bait, the vampire had simply laughed. “Oh no, not at all. I am quite entertained.”

The jester shuffled his feet, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Oh yes? And what does the little breton find so amusing about watching humble Cicero sweep the floors?”

“It’s not only the floor sweeping that entertains me, child.” started Babette, reminding the Keeper of who the little one here really was. “It’s the nesting.” Before the Keeper could question the girl’s meaning, she was clarifying. “Much like a young mother, Keeper. I have seen you repairing your private room and furnishing nicely, but I have yet to see you sleep in there. And all of your belongings are kept in this room.”

Cicero was almost shocked that the un-child had figured so much out in so little time. Almost.

“The Listener needs her own room. She needs security, and humble Cicero will provide it.”

“You seem awfully confident that she will return.”

Cicero gripped his broom with both hands until he was sure his knuckles her white under his gloves. “Oh yes,” he started, taking small steps towards the un-child seated just a few feet away from him. His voice lowered into something deeper and more menacing that he usually displayed. “That is, unless that pretender has left to hunt Cicero’s sweet Listener. But she wouldn’t dare invoke the Wrath of Sithis, would she?”

Babette watched the Keeper with a calculating smile. “Are you worried?”

Cicero leaned in until the two’s noses were almost touching. “Are you trying to rile poor Cicero?”

“Not at all.” came the vampire’s innocent tone. “Our lovely nord is simply recruiting more brothers and sisters.”

“ _Ahhh_ , more underlings to guarantee her position? Yes, very clever, _yes_. Cicero is aware the pretender is losing her carefully molded pack of dogs.” He narrowed his eyes further at the little vampire. “And Cicero knows where your loyalty lies as well, un-child. Cicero has no time for your games.”

With that, the Keeper removed himself from the vampire’s personal space and continued sweeping the room with a skip in his step, unbothered and content.

Babette sighed and excused herself from the chapel. They had company arriving and the Keeper was proving to be more and more shrewd than he portrayed himself. She couldn’t fault him for that, however. She survived by having people constantly underestimate her.

But knowing that only made teasing him less fun.

Babette walked down into the lobby and up the stairs into the entryway, finding Nazir reading a rather thick tome at one of the tables. He didn’t look up at her until she spoke.

“It seems our little Siren was telling the truth.”

Nazir almost jumped out of his chair, leaving the tome in it’s place on the small table. “They’re back? All three of them?”

Babette nodded, her superior vampire hearing catching voices half a mile from the black door. She smirked, flashing a dangerous fang in the low light of the sanctuary.

“And it seems like they have some _very_ interesting news.”

 

*

 

Cicero had been ecstatic when his Listener walked into the sanctuary in one piece, so when she had turned around and asked him to leave almost immediately, it was incredibly frustrating.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have run up to her and bombarded her with so many questions. He wanted to know all about Mother’s special contract and wanted to show her the special room he’d prepared for her. But his journey-worn Listener had simply placed a coin purse in his hands and asked him to run to the general goods store to buy her something other than mead. She had even promised to watch over Mother while he was out.

Part of him suspected that she didn’t want to be bothered, but he would die before he failed in his duty to his Listener.

Cicero was only slightly nervous as he made his way into the town of Falkreath. He came through once before while transporting Mother’s coffin, but it still took him a good few minutes to locate the general goods store. When the Keeper exuberantly demanded alcohol of the shopkeep, he was turned away.

Perhaps a change in approach was necessary.

The redhead entered The Dead’s Man Drink with slightly less enthusiasm, trying to remember how one purchased goods. Normally, he would’ve just stolen what he needed, but his Listener’s exact words were to “ _buy_ something other than mead”. And buy it he would.

Cicero walked straight passed the few patrons in the establishment before reaching the innkeeper. He stared the man down with his intense amber gaze while he vigorously searched for the coin purse in his breeches. Right before the innkeeper thought to call the guards, Cicero pulled out his large pouch of septims and told the man, “Alcohol, _please_. No mead.”

Ah, Cicero was such a _good_ Keeper, he was.

“Cicero?” came a deep and feminine voice. The Keeper dropped the Listener’s money on the counter before spinning around on one foot to see who had called his name. Was it the jester in his mind, taunting him?

When the beautiful and tanned imperial woman walked up to him with a gentle smile in place, the Keeper lowered his guard.

“Ah, the kindly stranger from the road!” Cicero hopped up in down in place, clapping joyously. “Hello again, _hello_ again!”

When the innkeeper gave the approaching woman a questioning glance, she simply nodded and waved him off. “It is good to see you again, my eccentric friend. Have you settled in nicely in your new home? I should’ve guessed you were taking your mother’s coffin to Falkreath’s cemetery.”

Cicero expertly weaved the conversation away from any sensitive topics. “Settled we have! Mother surely enjoys being close to her new family. Has the kindly stranger had any luck in finding her own sister?”

The imperial woman slouched noticeably, sighing deeply. “No, nothing. I thought she’d be with the thieves guild, but no one in Riften seems to know anything. And… she’s definitely not in Windhelm.” The woman rubbed at her bare arm tentatively. “Not to mention I, uh, got caught up in some other stuff.”

Cicero nodding sagely. “Yes, Cicero can tell the kindly stranger has changed since our last meeting. Someone died, yes?”

The woman blinked at the blunt statement, but she knew that her odd friend simply didn’t know any better. “Well, yes.” she mumbled. “A few people.”

The innkeeper returned with three different types of wine, and Cicero happily chose the more expensive Cyrodiilic case. Surely his imperial Listener would appreciate something imported from her homeland.

“The kindly stranger sounds sad.” The Keeper gestured the woman to move closer so that he could whisper to her. “Death is not bad. Everyone says the gift of life is so beautiful. Death is just as so. Don’t you think the inevitable cycle is quite… poetic?”

The brunette woman leaned back and blinked owlishly. “I, uh… never thought of it that way, friend.”

Cicero loaded his arms up with the case, paying for it with his Listener’s money and having plenty left over. “Cicero knows plenty, yet rare care to listen.”

The front door of the inn opened, and a courier slid in and looked around. Cicero took this as his sign to leave. He didn’t like couriers. They were always too good with names and faces.

He nodded to the woman and started heading toward the door without sparing her a second glance. When the courier’s gaze landed on his imperial lady friend, he slid past Cicero to place something in her hand.

“Hey, uhm, Cicero?” came the woman’s uncertain voice as she fumbled for her coin purse to tip the mailman. He stopped and inclined his head towards her to show he was listening. “You can call me by my name if you want. It’s Vaudina.”

He giggled his approval before giving her an exaggerated salute.

Cicero had what his Listener wanted, and he was eager to return to her.

 

*

 

Severia allowed Gabriella and Veezara to explain the situation to Nazir and Babette while she retreated to the Night Mother’s chamber. She was exhausted, but she was dying for some kind of comfort from her Matron.

She took her seat at the short pew set up right in front of the Night Mother’s coffin, admiring offhandedly how spotless the whole place was. The Keeper was as odd as they come, but he definitely excelled at his job.

She contemplated opening the casket. She wanted to speak to Mother about everything that was going on. She wanted to be given the answer. She didn’t want to have to figure this all out on her own. But she also didn’t want to go crying to mommy simply because thinking was hard. Severia did want to figure this all out on her own. Truly. But she was running out of time, and there was a huge contract banking on whether or not their little family could function properly.

Severia had taken the amulet and sealed letter Amaund Motierre had given them. He had said to give it to their leader, but Astrid wasn’t in the sanctuary. “Off recruiting” Babette had said. It wasn’t exactly the most convenient time for her to be messing around with finding new initiates.

Severia turned the sealed parchment over in her hands. Astrid wasn’t here, but _she_ was. According to everything Cicero had taught her, she was the highest authority of the Dark Brotherhood, second only to the Night Mother and Sithis himself. Would it be presumptuous of her to just go ahead and open the plans herself? She wanted to know where the boundaries were.

She hovered a hand over the wax seal holding the document shut.

What was she doing? The Severia before the Brotherhood wouldn’t have even _hesitated_.

But she had her Enigma now- she had Mother. She was stronger now, and she knew it.

But why did she feel like she’d somehow become weaker as well?

The heavy double doors of the chapel creaked open slowly, and Severia glanced up to find the Keeper smiling madly with a large crate of wine in his arms. He shut the door smoothly with one foot before walking up to the tiny imperial.

“Cicero has completed his task, Listener!” he gently set the case of wine down, rummaging around in it for a moment before pulling out a bottle that looked different from the rest. “Cicero took a detour and grabbed something special as well.” He handed the bottle out for her to take, and she tucked Motierre’s plans into her vest before grabbing Cicero’s offering.

She almost gasped aloud at what she held. “Brandy? Where did you find brandy in _Falkreath_?”

Cicero shrugged, but was visibly preening. “Oh, the child Jarl didn’t need it. Cicero isn’t sure he is of age yet.”

Severia chuckled at that, pulling the cork and smelling the sweet alcohol. She didn’t typically like sweet stuff, but Cyrodiilic brandy offset it’s sweet with a delightful burn. It was delicious, and awfully dangerous. “I’m barely of age myself. My sister used to drink the stuff, so I managed to try a bit of it here and there growing up.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she clammed up.

Cicero caught it though. “The Listener’s birth sister?”

Severia wavered slightly, wondering how much she could say to the eccentric Keeper. Mother’s words replayed in her mind, and she supposed it was alright to confide this little bit with her dark brother.

“Little Siren doesn’t need to say.”

Ugh, there was that name again. How she hated it. “It’s fine. Yeah, I have an older sister by birth. And a little brother somewhere too. I don’t remember him very well though.”

Cicero motioned to sit himself on the floor a few feet away from her, but Severia patted the space on the pew beside her. He stalled, looking from the imperial’s face to the spot beside her. Severia took a small sip of the brandy and hummed appreciatively before handing the bottle out for the jester to take. With that little bit of encouragement, he found himself grabbing the bottle and seating himself a foot away from her on the bench.

He stared down at the bottle for a solid minute before speaking. “Cicero hasn’t had anything like this in a very long time.”

“What, alcohol?”

“Yes.” he nodded, smiling shyly. “Cicero has always needed to be on high alert. For mother, you see.” He took a tentative sip, only enough to coat the inside of his mouth.

Severia watched him intently as he spoke and drank. She knew the odd little man had been alone in that run down sanctuary in Cheydinhal. The man couldn’t leave the Night Mother’s side for more than an hour without growing antsy. He’d been there for at least the five years she’d been singing for him and Mother. She never did think about how long he’d been down there before she found them.

The man was alone for so _long_. Perhaps she couldn’t blame him for being a little crazy. Sure, he liked to try and get on her nerves or to get a rise out of her, but more than one of her dark siblings seemed to enjoy that pastime.

She almost felt guilty for giving him such a hard time.

She cringed then, remembering that she had kicked the loon out the moment she arrived to buy her booze.

And he did it without a second thought.

He shot her a sideways glance, as if contemplating the next words he chose carefully. “You said you have an older sister?”

“Yeah?” Cicero handed the bottle back to her, and she took another hefty sip of the burning sweetness. She silently hoped his madness wasn’t transmitted orally.

“Is she dark like you? Cicero rarely sees imperials with such tan skin.”

“My, ah… grandmother on my mother’s side was a redguard. So yeah, My sister and I both favor that.” Severia was allowing more and more of herself to be known by this homicidal jester. She wasn’t used to talking about herself, and her whole time in Skyrim has been spent under an alias. So why was all of this coming out so easily now?

Perhaps it was due to the fact she could just swear her Keeper to secrecy. The fool practically worshiped her, and she found that she wouldn’t feel too bad taking advantage of him just this once to keep her identity hidden.

She went to hand the brandy bottle back to him, and looked over to him when he didn’t take it right away. Cicero had leaned in ever so slightly, amber eyes fixedly scrutinizing every part of her face. His upturned eyebrows were drawn down in concentration, and his lips were pursed ever so slightly. After a moment, he leaned back, taking the bottle from a stunned Severia. He took a bigger sip this time before wiping his mouth with the back of a gloved hand.

“That paper in the Listener’s vest… Are those the plans for the new contract?” he asked, eyeing her severely less intently than he had a moment earlier.

He was changing the topic. Something was odd about his questioning, but there was no need to press a madman. He said odd things all the time. “Yes. Has anyone told you about it yet?”

Severia took the bottle back from the jester, chuckling at his frantically shaking head and rapt attention. She took a long, slow swig of the brandy, building suspense for her excitable Keeper. She released her mouth from the lip of the bottle with a soft “pop”, and sighed dramatically before licking her lips. Only then did she turn to the redhead who was practically bouncing in his seat.

“We’re going to kill the emperor.”

Severia almost laughed aloud at the Keeper’s stunned expression. She could feel the brandy start to burn at her cheeks, and she wondered idly if she’d been intoxicated since that time she stole a bottle from her sister when she was thirteen. She had wanted to feel something, but the only thing she felt was a nauseous stomach and a lead weight in her head.

Severia tuned back into her companion’s rambling as soon as she’d realized that she’d zoned out.

“-and the Dark Brotherhood will be _feared_ again, oh _yes_! This is marvelous! Oh, how Cicero wishes he could be a part of this grand scheme! But alas, the honor for such a tribute to our Dread Father should go to none other than _you_ , Listener!”

Severia nodded, passing the bottle back to the Keeper. He accepted it eagerly, taking another swig. “Mother asked me to carry the deed out myself. I have the plans, but they’re sealed. Motierre said to hand them off to our leader, but I’m not sure what to do.”

“Why, the Listener will read those plans!” insisted the jester.

Severia chuckled. “It’s not so simple, Keeper.”

“Why of _course_ it is!” the jester jumped up and out of his seat, holding his bottle to the sky like a torch. “The Night Mother chose _you_!” Cicero pointed a gloved finger at her face, though he still retained his respectful distance. “To deny such a responsibility is to deny the Night Mother _herself_!”

Severia stared, dumbfounded, and didn’t even realize she was taking another sip of the sweet liquor until it was already going down her throat. “I didn’t think of it that way.” she said, placing a cold hand to her warming face. Wasn’t this normally the coldest room in the sanctuary? “I think you’re right, brother. I will read those plans.”

“Not _here_ , dear sister!” whispered the jester, pulling the imperial girl gingerly to her feet and taking the brandy bottle from her hands. “Cicero has prepared the Listener her own private room! She should go over those plans in there!” He skipped over to the other side of the small room, placing a hand on the doorknob of his supposed bedroom. “Come, come, Listener!”

Severia stalled. She squinted her eyes in disbelief at the excitable jester as he frantically waved her over.

“Are you...” she started, steadying herself as she swayed slightly. “Are you trying to trick me into your bedchamber?”

Cicero’s jaw dropped. “W-What?”

“I know that is your room, you twit.”

“No, no, no, no, _no_! Cicero would never dream of- of-!” he stumbled over his words, waving the brandy bottle, oblivious to the droplets that sloshed out with the motion. His pale skin flushed hotly with alcohol and shame. “Cicero has converted his room into a private chamber for the Listener! Cicero would never be so presumptuous as to-!”

Severia lunged forward, grabbing the brandy from his hand and brought it close to her chest. She pulled the cork from one of her vest pockets and resealed the liquor before stepping past the Keeper and opening the door of the bedroom just a crack. She peered inside, finding that the Keeper had indeed moved the few belongings she had into the small room.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked hesitantly.

“Cicero will sleep in here.” he said insistently, gesturing to the Night mother’s chamber. “No one but the Listener and humble Cicero enter this room. And Cicero can’t sleep comfortably in a bed.”

She eyed him warily before huffing and pushing through the small room’s doorway. The Keeper peered in after her, but made no move to follow her. She seated herself on one of the stools by the small table and pulled the folded parchment from her vest.

She paused in her action when she saw the Keeper was still standing in the doorway and watching her in confused fascination.

“Why are you just standing there, creep? Go grab a cheaper bottle and get in here. I might need help reading these plans.” Cicero jumped at her words and seemed conflicted, but quietly and eagerly did as he was told. He entered the room carrying a bottle of Cyrodiilic wine, and internally agreed that switching alcohol was a wise choice at this point.

“Does the tiny Siren not know how to read?”

“I can fucking read. Things are just a little blurry.” she said, her face scrunching up in it’s typical fashion. “And quit calling me that. I hate that name.”

The jester laughed as he seated himself on the opposite end of the small table. “Yes, Cicero assumed it to be a tasteless moniker.”

The imperial opened her mouth to snap something back at him, but stopped herself. She eyed him warily for a moment before speaking. “My name is Severia. But don’t you go telling anyone that.” She popped the cork off the new bottle, taking a sip of it to hid her reddening face. “That’s an order, Keeper.”

She almost wanted to slap him when he gazed at her with that look of pure awe she saw the day she was named Listener.

Meanwhile, Babette had been distracted from her insightful conversation with Gabriella about their run-in with a dragon by the sound of harsh whispers coming from the direction of the Night Mother’s chamber. She had initially found it hard to believe that the apparent selfish Siren had put herself in harm’s way to save her dunmer friend. However, she was changing rapidly since the Night Mother first spoke.

The breton excused herself for the evening, following the sounds of her Listener and Keeper through the initiate’s quarters and into the Night Mother’s makeshift chapel. The voices grew louder and more frantic as she approached the cracked door of the Keeper’s old room.

She slowly pushed the old door, listening as her suspects grew silent as the door swung open.

Babette stared in muted horror as she found their broody imperial and residential madman hunched over a crinkled piece of parchment in the corner of the room, on the floor, with an empty bottle of wine between them.

The two stared back, as if they’d been caught stealing a sweetroll from a market stall.

It was the vampire who broke the silence. “What in Sithis’s name is going on here?”

“The emperor.” slurred the Listener, face devoid of all humor. “We gon’ kill him.”

“And everyone else.” finished the Keeper lamely.

Babette sighed dramatically, stepping back and closing the door quietly without a word.

She really hoped their family was in good hands with those two.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more chapters, reviews keep me going!  
> This story is also posted on Fanfiction.net, and I will typically be updating there before here.  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12885157/1/The-Keeper-s-Lullaby


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